


Aelirenn’s key

by Namesonboats (Viken2592)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Age Difference, Angst with a Happy Ending, Big Scary Monsters, Canon Divergence, Don't Mess With Our Dwarf-Loving Dragon, Dwarves, Elves and humans, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gnomes, M/M, POV First Person, Past Tense, Racial Conflict, Shameless Elf-promotion, Slow Burn, Smut, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-12-31 23:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18324335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viken2592/pseuds/Namesonboats
Summary: Morgan has one desire: to reclaim her mother’s old sawmill. Before her mother died, she entrusted Morgan with an elven artefact called the key. Morgan hopes the key can help her and her family lead a better life, but there is a problem. The sawmill was destroyed in a mysterious incident that left the place cursed, and the key is still hidden near the ruins.When she meets a band of Scoia’tael dedicated to finding the legendary Aelirenn’s key, Morgan’s life takes an unexpected turn.Together with their friends and family, Morgan and Iorweth strike a deal to uncover the truth about the key. They embark on an adventure that will take them over the Makaham, to the free city of Vergen, the Blue Mountains, and the elven ruins of Shaerrawedd.Can their common mission help them both get what they want, when wants, desires and ambitions are turned upside down? What is gained and what is lost when desires are fulfilled?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a Iorweth/female oc [smutlet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940752) I wrote because... reasons. Two amazingly kind commenters mentioned they’d consider reading more content with the pairing, and nothing sparks inspiration like encouragement! I thought long and hard about who the female oc was, how she met Iorweth… and a slightly different character appeared (the ways characters tend to have their own will). 
> 
> The fic takes place in 1271-1275, a few years after the Second Northern war and the peace treaty of Cintra. The setting from the second Witcher game is mostly present, but the plot diverges from games canon.
> 
> The translation of the elven lullaby from English to Elder Speech was done with the help of [Kaeltale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeltale/pseuds/kaeltale)! <3
> 
> If you enjoy this fic, I would love your feedback!
> 
> If there is anything you wish to discuss with me, such as poor grammar/language, tagging, characterization, or lore, find me on [tumblr](https://namesonboats.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/namesonboats)!

I state that we should not kill each other. I state that we ought to live. Live in such a way that we don’t, later, have to ask anyone for forgiveness.  
\- Yarpen Zigrin  
Andrzej Sapkowski, The Blood of Elves.

 

Mae’r caémm  
n’corrason cáelm  
arras aen amser tedd  
aép dearme am vis  
teddan a unidae  
teddan a’deallwaeth  
\- Elven lullaby

 

**1271, Ellander**

According to an old Kaedweni proverb, fate never knocks on your door when it arrives. In my case, the saying held true. There was nothing extraordinary about the day when everything changed.

I raised my arm and aimed the crossbow at the heart of the man I called father, squinted, and squeezed the trigger. Scattered gasps erupted from the crowd. The bolt dug into a wooden framed cushion in my father’s hands, the size of his fist, followed by two more thuds of reloaded bolts.

The audience applauded. Yanis nodded and smiled with his amber eyes. I bowed before I prepared for the final act of our show; climbing Yanis’ shoulders and letting my younger sister Delys climb us to form a human tower.

We executed the well-rehearsed act with a semblance of falling to augment the excitement of the crowd. People sighed in awe and clapped their hands.

Unfortunately, perfect execution didn’t equal a well-filled coin pouch. After the war, people were generally too poor to give more than small sums of orens or ducats. We accepted other payments such as pelts and furs, tools and food for an hour of entertainment.

After the show, my sister circulated the remaining crowd at our temporary camp with a box in her hands, accepting coin with a radiant smile. The money would later be taken to Arno, the leader of our band. He kept it to himself.

I bent my head to the side and stretched my shoulders. The appreciative, and sometimes openly admiring gazes on my sister from parts of the crowd irritated me.

The sun reached zenith above the treetops. Spring lurked in every corner of the lands, still barren from the pressure of the recently melted snow. I packed my worn leather bag with small provisions of food and drink, dressed in my hooded parka and enjoyed the feeling of the worn, satin-smooth leather against my skin.

Yanis and Delys approached me.

“Watch out for the drowners.”

“Yes, papa.” My crossbow fastened at my hip, satchel on my back, I was ready for a few precious hours alone in the forest.

“Morgan…”

The change of tone made me pause. I searched for his gaze.

“We have another appointment soon. We’ll meet the dealers by the abandoned druid hut in the glade in less than an hour.”

I darted a worried glance towards the silhouettes of Arno and his two lackeys, Ben and Sivan. Arno let out one of his characteristic burly waves of laughter followed by a jet of brown saliva on the ground.

I desperately wished to get away from these men - the sooner the better.

“Stay in the background,” I muttered at my sister.

She tsk’ed. “If you’re worried, I could always join you to the forest.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’d step into a hornet’s nest or get butted by a boar.”

She made a face.

“Enough of that,” Yanis interjected, “tss, sometimes I forget you are adults. Listen: this is our last affair with Arno. After this, I have earned enough to repay my debt.” He leaned closer and whispered. “We can start over. We can rebuild the sawmill as you’ve always wanted.”

A wave of incredulity washed over me. “Really? But… what about the curse?”

He caressed my cheek. “We’ll find a way to remove it. I promise.”

I grew frustrated despite the knowing look he gave me.

“We should have gone sooner! Sold the key and -”

“No. Your mother wanted you to have the key. I had to repay my debt on my own, not by robbing you of what is yours.” He regained his smile. “Go, you big otter. Bring back some trout for us.”

He pushed my shoulder in a mock irritated gesture. I flashed him and Delys a smile before I proceeded my travel towards the river, steps light as if I treaded on clouds.

My soul sang. No more of the smuggler life! We could go back to Kaedwen and rebuild our old sawmill! Never again disguise Arno’s hawker business with our circus tricks, but lead our lives debt-free, as we wished to!

For the first time in what felt like years, I believed in a future for me and my family. That we could live a dignified life, not one of strife and deceit. People screamed for timber to reconstruct the cities and towns that burned during the war. We could play a small part in rebuilding the Northern Kingdoms.

The waters of the Ismena glittered through the branches of the birches and the alder trees. Their delicate leaves still hid in buds, waiting for the lingering rays of sun to bless them into sprouting.

Judging from a patch of blood among torn leaves, the fox was out hunting. The tufted deer and the great moose left torn bark on bushes and trees, felled alders and the beginnings of a dam told of the beavers’ activities.

The presence of the large rodents provided a welcome barrier between me and the drowners as the creatures didn’t cross each other’s territories. Pausing for a lunch of bread, cheese and dried meat, the characteristic croaking of the aquatic necrophages reached me from around the river’s bend. The sound was as familiar as the chatter of the magpie or the buzz of the bumblebee.

A couple of canards fled with a violent flap to their wings as I stepped into the shallow waters to inspect my trap. The simple construction allowed fish to swim into it but hindered their escape back into the river.

At the sight of the trap, I stilled, frowning. To protect my catch, I had placed a few, flat stones as a roof on the construction. These stones lay beside the destroyed trap, flung by something, or someone, strong enough to lift them. I crouched, my hand on my crossbow. A near indiscernible indent from a leather shoe glistened on the sand.

Only one type of people left such little trace. Elves.

A knot of worry tightened in my guts. Arno hadn’t mentioned they would meet with the Scoia’tael today. To my knowledge, the appointment was set with human or dwarven traders to have anything to sell to the elves. Something wasn’t right.

I left the river bank for the forest but didn’t head back to our camp; instead, I directed my steps to the meeting spot to the west, driven by a sense of urgency.

To reach the spot usually made for trades, I had to take a large detour around an arachas territory. For the first time, the presence of the large insectoids irritated me.

I sped up my steps as I approached the glen with the hut overgrown by vines, the knot in my guts tightening to a boulder. An eerie atmosphere surrounded the place. No birds sang, the only sound the faint rustle of branches in the wind and my steps on the dry grounds.

My eyes registered the sight of the bodies on the forest floor a second before the smell of blood. I rushed, my leather boots slipping on dead leaves. Breath short in my lungs, I searched for her among the bodies on the ground, all pierced by arrows, except…

“Yanis!”

I ran to kneel beside him, my vision blurred from hot tears, breathing my father’s name. Yanis, Yanis… His temple glistened red with blood, a few drops hung from his beard. His left eye puffed red from a blow, and his underarms showed cuts from defending himself from a knife. He emitted a low groan, his eyelids pulsing. I inhaled his name with a sob of relief and grasped his shoulders.

“What happened? Where is Delys?”

“Morgan..?”

Panic churned my guts. Delys was gone. Delys was gone, Delyswasgone…

Yanis moaned.

“Lay still, papa,” I sniffled, “I’ll help you, don’t move.”

He uttered my name again. I got to my feet and searched around us, lifted my fingers to my mouth, and whistled hard. After a few whistles, our mule Madam approached, the wheels of our waggon creaking behind her. Exhaling a joyous sound from relief, I ran up to her and took the reins. She snorted at the smell of blood but continued, our stubborn, loyal mule, towards Yanis.

He sat holding his head when we arrived. A certain smell and a fresh stain on the ground told me he had vomited; signs of a concussion. I pulled one of his extra shirts from our packing to bind his arm and tried to get him to drink.

Yanis groaned, dizzy and faint. “The elves. They have Delys. You have to find her…”

He muttered other words I didn’t hear, drowned by the adrenaline rush that soared in my veins. My body tensed from the wish to sprint after the elves immediately.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be ok,” he moaned and grabbed my arm, “Morgan; the elves - they want the key. Bargain with them. Anything to get Delys back. Hurry. I’ll come after you.”

My mind reeled in confusion at his words - how did they know about the key? I grabbed my satchel and kissed Yanis on his cap. A single strand of blonde hair, the only sign of my sister, flowed in the wind from a budding sallow tree.

The elves had two, maybe three hours advantage.

I leashed Madam to ensure she stayed with Yanis and took a last look at our former companions. After a second’s hesitation, I knelt to grab the small coin pouch on Arno’s belt and dashed through the forest in search of my sister.

*

After an hour of tracking, I found the unmistakable sign of injury; a few droplets of blood on a single, dead leaf. The find froze my heart. I had to stop to calm the harsh breathing through my lungs, lest I start to cry, and all was in vain. Why didn’t I take her with me to the forest, why, _why..._

The elves moved through the landscape as by magic. Not a footprint, not a broken branch to a bush. Luckily, Delys left imprints from her sandals and another strand of hair hanging from a tree. She was as easy to track as a common rabbit, but I had never tracked anything with this amount of urgency before. The ploughing tears that burned behind my lids didn’t help my search.

What would do once I found her? Beg for her life? I had to think of something because getting killed was not on my to-do list for the day. It never occurred to me to attempt to kill her captors. Scoia’tael consisted of commandos of at least four elves, and their skill with the bow was legendary. I had never killed anything besides small game or fish.

I prayed to my Goddess.  _Let her be alive and unharmed_.

Over a creek and into the thicket, I followed the tracks alongside a wheat field. The elven commandos preferred the woods and avoided human settlement; these lands had plenty of the first and not much of the latter. The warm remains of burned herbs on the ground assured me they weren’t far. I leaned against a birch to take a mouthful of water from my travelling skin and search the area for more tracks. A movement behind me made me jump, heart in my throat.

I turned to stand face-to-face with an elf.


	2. Chapter 2

Holding a typical elven bow with double limbs in his hand, the elf surveyed me with a cold glare. A bandana covered his head and right eye. The scarlet cloth hid a scar that cut from his high cheekbone to the crook of his full lips.

It must have been an ugly wound.

I exposed my palms. “N’aen aespar a me.”

My attempts at communicating in Elder Speech didn't fall on fertile soil. The elf narrowed his eye in irritation.

“Please,” I pleaded, “My sister - you have her. Blonde, about this tall,” I motioned with my hand to my jaw, “seventeen years old. Her name is Delys.”

He fastened his bow to his back, a sign he didn’t consider me a threat. The motion revealed a tattoo, patterned like leaves on a vine, that crept underneath his collar to the left side of his neck.

Another elf appeared from the shrubbery. He wore leather garments and a common linen shirt, his long, brown hair braided in the typical elven way by the temples.

“Please,” I repeated, heart in my throat, “is she ok? Do you have her?”

An amused smile sparked in the brown-haired elf’s eyes. He reached to grab me by the arms.

On instinct, I yanked my wrists out of his grasp by a downwards, fluid motion, followed by a thrust of my knee between his legs. It was a defensive act acquired from whenever I encountered drunkards who thought a circus girl was a fair target.

The elf bent forwards with an “ouf”.

A shower of regret fell in me. What in Melitele’s tits was I doing? The elf would never tell me about Delys after a blow to the balls! He might even kill me!

Heart rate spiking, I calculated my chances of survival. If I made it to the waters…

My fear took the decision for me. I sprinted, but the elf with the headband was faster. He tripped me, and to add insult to injury, pressed me into the dirt of the ground with a hard push to the back.

I spit the soil from my mouth, cold sweat gathering at my temples. Hoisted up with a painful tug to my braid, I grit my teeth as the nerve ends of my scalp screamed.

A nauseating fear of worse pain caused me to breathe in short gasps. The Scoia’tael killed with an arrow in the back, not through torture, but the hate the elven commandos harboured for humans was widely known. Hate prompted cruelty.

The elf with the headband robbed me of my crossbow and ordered me to follow them. A hard push to my back compelled me to move forward. Stupefied, I wasn’t beaten, but taken deeper into the woods.

Urging me forwards with random presses to my shoulder, the two elves exchanged words in Elder Speech. They occasionally used the word for younger sister, sor’ca. It filled me with hope.

After half an hour of marching, we reached a camp at a small clearing. A lit fire sent a pillar of billowing smoke towards the treetops, bows leaned against the trunks of maple trees. Two more elves, dressed in green and sand-coloured trews and woollen cloaks, rested at the camp. One of them, a pale-faced redhead sitting with her back against a trunk, was female.

Beside her, crouching, was my sister.

A chasm of relief opened in my chest. I exhaled her name and stumbled to reach her. She rushed, stopped by none, repeating my name in a tear-filled voice. I returned her embrace, lips pressed against her hair.

Delys brushed a patch of dirt from my jaw. “I knew you’d come for me. I was so afraid the elves would kill you. I begged them to spare you.”

She hid her face in the crook of my neck.

“I will always come for you, little cat,” I whispered.

“Arno tried to kill papa. I couldn’t do anything. And then the elves came…”

“Delys, what happened?”

“Arno claimed he knew about mother’s ‘elven treasure’ and that he wanted it. Papa swore he’d rather die than giving him the key, Arno drew his dagger and... Everything happened so fast. Sivan attacked me. The elves came and shot him. They shot Ben and Arno too. Is papa alright? The elf with the headband wouldn’t let me bind his cuts.”

I nodded to assure her.

My sister squeezed my arms, a blush rising on her cheeks. “The elves asked me about the key, and I promised I would give it to them. I’m sorry. I know mother left the key to you.”

“You did the right thing. Anything that keeps you alive is right. There is nothing to apologize for.”

The commander of the elves stepped forward.

“You should thank her. You are alive because she spilt your secret.”

Parts of his garments were human. He wore a green tunic that opened in a wide collar and fell below his knees. A sleeveless chainmail hauberk and a leather harness covered the tunic, embellished with a few insignias I didn’t recognize. Through a tear in the cloth of his headband, a pointed ear and a few strands of dark hair escaped.

“You have Aelirenn’s key. It belongs to us.” The icy tone of his voice could have frozen a lake.

“The key belonged to our mother!” I snarled.

I jumped, heart thundering in my chest when he stepped forward and fisted the cloth of my parkas to pull me to his face. My sister let out a whine of fright.

“The key belongs to the elven race. Your mother stole it and have kept it from us ever since. Do you even know what it signifies?”

His nostrils flared as he roamed my body with a look of utter disdain. “How could you? You are a filthy dh’oine, a hav’careen, whose greed drives you to exploit elves and humans alike.”

I kept my expression stale like flint, willing my voice not to break from fright.

“Let go of me.”

His eye narrowed but he released his grip. I stumbled into my who sister wrapped her arms around me but let go as the female elf let out a pained grunt.

The commander crossed his arms, jaw tensed, as Delys hurried over to her patient. She placed her wrist on the injured elf’s forehead with a worried frown. When she lifted her tunic, she revealed a bandage that covered the elf's midriff, bloodied and in need of refastening.

“She’s gaining a fever.” Delys glared at the elf in the headband. His stony expression didn’t falter.

“Shioned was struck by one of your companions before we killed them,” he said, “but we elves are stronger than your sister thinks. We are moving, and she is coming with us. Now that she knows you and your father are alive, she will hopefully stop fretting over you.”

My stomach dropped. “Coming with you - where?”

“To Kaedwen. That’s where your sister located your sawmill. We leave now.”

“No! You can’t -”

Delys approached me and placed a hesitant hand on my shoulder. “They’re not holding me captive. I promised I would take them to the sawmill.”

“Because you thought they would kill you! That’s not consent, that’s blackmail!” I clenched my fists in anger, but inside, my fear spun a web of rising panic in my guts. The commander gave us a disinterested shrug.

“No, that’s not why I did it.” My sister glanced at the female elf. “She is injured because of me. She saved me by fighting Sivan when he attacked me, Morgan. I owe her my life.”

I grew hot and cold at her words - Goddess, she could have died - along with a flash of surprise. A Scoia’tael elf saved the life of a human?

Gratitude towards the elf flowed through my heart. I pushed the feeling aside. However noble the female elf’s deed, it didn’t give the elves the right to haul my sister hundreds of miles to a place that could be full of ghouls and wraiths. My sister’s wish to help was honorable, but her big heart always got her in trouble. She needed me to think logically for both of us.

I opened my mouth to protest but Delys interrupted me. “Come with us. You’ve wanted the mill back for years. This way -”

I shook my head. Her plea mirrored Yanis’ words but the risk was too great.

I turned to the commander of the unit.

“Our father. His injuries are worse than you think and I - he might be dying. Please let us go so we can help him.”

My sister stared at me. I squeezed her hand to assure her. It was a cheap lie, but I had little option to find a way for these elves to free my sister and let her go with me.

The commander remained motionless, his gaze chillingly neutral. “Your father is just one dh’oine less for me. Your sister comes with us.”

A sickening wave of shame washed over me at his words. I was an idiot for pleading for the compassion of a murderer and a terrorist.

I had no choice.

“Let us make a deal,” I blurted, my face warming.

The commander frowned and crossed his arms on his chest.

“What are you talking about, dh’oine?”

“We left the mill six years ago because… something happened. I, Delys and our father were on a trip to our nearest settlement when something attacked, killing our mother and all the workers. We came back to a massacre. Our father claims the place is cursed. Help us remove whatever haunts the mill and we’ll give you the key.”

“Do we look like sorcerers? We can’t lift curses. We don’t need you both to find an old sawmill by the Pontar.”

Panic rose in me again, but I pushed it down and did my best to look unruffled.

“I’m the only one who knows where my mother hid the key. It’s locked inside a box only I can open. You need me -” I glanced at the injured elf - “and you need my sister. She practiced at the temple of Melitele for over a year and knows much about medicine.” I took a deep breath. “Do we have a deal, Aen Seidhe?”

The commander observed us in hostile silence before he turned to his comrades. They discussed in Elder Speech, crouching beside the injured elf. After a few minutes, she nodded with her teeth gritted in pain. The other two shrugged.

The elf in the headband rose and approached us.

“I don’t normally make deals with dh’oine.” The words dripped with contempt. “But if it is as you say… then we agree. ”

A rush of triumph flared in my chest, mixed with emotions of confusion and worry. It wasn’t a good deal, but I hadn’t lost Delys. Getting the mill had been my priority for years, and this was perhaps the best help I could get.

A pinch of bitter regret ached in me from having to give up the key, but in honesty, I didn’t know what it was. Mother never told me.

“Let us at least send a message to Yanis - our father. The nearest settlement is Dorndal, he’ll likely seek help there.”

To my relief, the commander nodded. “A brief letter to the notice board. Not a word of our agreement - I don’t want a swarm of dh’oine following us to Kaedwen. Tell him you and your sister are unharmed, nothing else.”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. His request was logical from his viewpoint, but cruel to ours. Still, it had to do.

I composed a letter. The youngest of the elves surveyed it and left to make sure it arrived in Dorndal.

We began our journey with the Scoia’tael. From that day on, our lives would never be the same.

*

The Scoia’tael commando directed their steps to the east, towards the hazy silhouette of the Mahakam mountains. The wind danced in crisp leaves and a flock of geese flew above us in a v formation, exclaming their trumpeting call.

We followed the river Ismena at a slow pace, avoiding human settlements and farmsteads. My sister ambled the timberland, her cheeks burning from the effort. She normally travelled on comfortable roads, sitting on the cart pulled by Madam.

I caught her sending worried glances at the female elf.

Shioned limped upheld by her companion, trying her best to hide her discomfort. The leader of the commando, the elf by the name Iorweth, was right. I had underestimated her strength.

During pauses to drink and rest, Delys prepared Shioned a pain-reducing tea. She let my sister change her bandages in sullen silence.

Before dusk, Iorweth left the commando and returned within two hours with a small tufted deer across his shoulders. I stifled an expression of wonder. Deer were fast prey: the elf must be an excellent shot, especially considering his partial eyesight.

A flock of crows lifted from a pine tree as the commando stopped to make camp beneath its branches. Shioned sank down by its trunk with the help of Delys and the elf who caught me, who went by the name of Ele’yas. He and his companion Ciaran skinned the deer while Iorweth started a fire. Soon, the flames danced in the air underneath the stars that speckled the sky in tiny dots.

I observed our captors on the sly. Ciaran was talkative in comparison to his companions. He had an irritating habit of sending me and Delys occasional winks. Like his commander, he wore a mix of human and elven clothes; a green jacket with leather sleeves, tied at the waist with a strap. The embroidered pattern of his shirt caused a pang of recognition in my chest. My mother’s friend Efa wore a similar garment.

The brown-haired Ele’yas had a tattoo on his neck in a similar leaf-patterned model as Iorweth. He smoked a herbal mix in a pipe he passed around to the other elves that dazed them.

None of the elves struck me as old. Had they been human, I would have guessed no more than twenty-five years, with the exception of their leader who might have passed for thirty. Because they were elves, I had no way of determining their actual age, but Yanis once told me Scoia’tael comprised mainly of young elves.

I contemplated the stupidity of this journey. Although the war ended three years ago, Kaedwen was still a bad place for nonhumans, especially war criminals. These elves must be desperate to find the key.

My sister left her position by the female elf to sit by my side. I smiled at her to convey a sense of security. Truth be told, I had no idea how to guarantee we would reach the sawmill or remove whatever haunted the place. If we did, there was a chance the elves might kill us as soon as they got their hands on the key.

“Dh’oine.”

I met the commander’s eye. He held a knife in his hand.

“Do you know how to cook?” He dug the knife into a piece of log beside me and planted a back piece of the deer in front of my sister.

“Here’s a pan. You’ll find herbs in that satchel.”

Delys made a concurring gesture with her shoulders. I reached for the knife and got to work.

We ate the meal with bread baked by mixing flour with oil and water to a dough that fried on a hot stone from the fire. In their stash, I found Arno’s wineskin. Iorweth protested when I poured the deep red liquid over the meat but silenced when the aroma of the meal spread in the camp. The elves ate with gusto, especially Ele’yas who shamelessly licked the pan.

Shioned ate with occasional faces of pain. She accepted a mug of ergot seed and willow-tree bark tea from Delys.

Iorweth shared the meal with least enthusiasm.

“Did you know dh’oine cook their meat in wine, brother?” Ciaran put another piece of the loin in his mouth.

“Yes.”

“I’ve been in the forest for too long.” Ciaran sent us a smirk.

His commander didn’t reply. He got up and snatched the knife from my hands.

“Your sister claims she doesn’t know the exact location of the key. For your own sake, I hope you do.” In the light from the bonfire, his eye blazed in green.

His tactic to intimidate me worked. The hair on the back of my neck prickled but I willed my face to stay neutral. I searched my mind for the right retort. In the hostile pause, Delys opened her mouth.

“The mill is located by the Lixelaaah!” She jumped and stared at me, wide-eyed. I pinned her with my gaze to let her know I would pinch her again if she reopened her mouth.

“I won’t tell you until we reach the sawmill,” I grumbled at the commander. ”I don’t trust you.”

“The Lixela… Not far from Shaerrawedd. It makes sense. Your mother told you the key would be yours?”

“Yes. No. She told Yanis - our father - that I needed to take care of it until the right time came.”

He paced towards me with a vicious glare. Pulse spiking, I stood and squared my shoulders.

“That key was never meant to be in dh’oine hands.”

“That key,” I retorted, “was given to my mother by an elf!”

He narrowed his eye in disbelief.

“Her name was Efa. She worked for my mother, they became close friends. Efa also died at the mill.”

He scrutinized me.

“How well do you understand Elder Speech?”

I lowered my gaze to the ground, face warming. “Not as well as I should. I know a few phrases…”

He turned to his brethren and spoke a litany in the elven language. I made out the words “we”, “careful”, and “human female”.

About to tell Delys not to spill any more information about the sawmill to the elves, I stopped at her concerned glance in Shioned’s direction.

”Is she alright?” I whispered and sat with her.

”She has a few bruises and a broken rib, but that’s not what worries me. The cut in her side is ugly. Her fever is rising and I’m afraid…”

My heart swelled at her concern, but the sentiment soured into an ache of a guilty conscience.

“Delys,” I whispered, “I’m worried about Yanis.”

My sister took my hand. “He’s strong. I know he wants us to be together. Plus, papa is not alone; he has Madam.”

The comment prompted a smile from me. Iorweth approached and placed freshly cut branches on the fire.

“Tomorrow, we cross the Ismena. In two days’ time, we traverse the mountains to reach Aedirn. It’s a weeks’ travel to the Pontar from there.”

My sister let go of my hand. “Are you mad? Shioned is not fit to traverse the Makaham mountains!”

“She and I will make that decision in two days.”

Delys shook with frustration. I prevented her from arguing with a silent headshake.

We fell asleep on our furs with a feeling of unrest.

*

The next morning, Delys helped Shioned change her bandages. She tried her best not to show her worry but it was clear the elf didn’t heal the way she should.

My sister approached Iorweth. I came to stand beside her as support.

“Shioned needs something to kill the infection. There is a risk she might die.”

Iorweth gave her an angry glare, but a spark of worry gleamed in his eye.

“Let me help her!” Delys pleaded.

Iorweth worked the muscles in his jaw. “Why do you care, dh’oine?”

My sister exhaled in desperation. “Why do I – because she’s hurt! Because she helped me! Please!”

A heartbeat passed.

“What do you need?”

Delys blinked, surprised by his agreement.

“I - I have most of the herbs required, the rest are easily found as we walk through the forest, but... I need buckthorn.”

Iorweth made a face. “Buckthorn is only found on the river floor, dh’oine. These parts of the Ismena is full of muire d’yaeblen.”

“I know how to distract the drowners.”

Iorweth darted his gaze to me in disbelief, but I didn’t pay attention to him. I put a hand on my sister's shoulder.

“I’ll get you the buckthorn. Let’s have some breakfast.”

Shioned partook in sharing our small breakfast, a sheen of cold sweat glistening on her temples. She often cast glances at my sister with a look of reluctant wonder.

We reached the river Ismena after a few hours, one of the male elves supporting Shioned. Iorweth and his comrades moved with a graceful economy that made little noise. We encountered a swarm of nekkers, but the elves dealt with them faster than the blink of an eye. A chill ran down my spine at the fluid speed of their motions as they fired their bows at the small ogriods.

The nekkers retreated underground, their angry cries still echoing from the opening of their lair. I approached a nearby shrubbery and immediately found what I searched for: the dry, cone shapes of their droppings. I used a large bracken leaf to scoop them up and enclosed it like a sack.

Ciaran approached me from behind and let out an elven curse.

“What in all full moons are you doing, dh’oine?”

“I plan to use it as a way to distract the drowners.”

He made a disgusted face. “We’ll kill them. You dh’oine are filthy.”

The remark burned a hot streak of resentment in my chest. The contempt that shone through the cracks of Ciarans mellow surface frightened me. I preferred the cold indifference of their leader.

I didn’t wish to be alone in Ciaran’s company but brushed past him to seek the others. We continued our traverse towards the river.

I stopped to add a pile of moose droppings to my sack. Iorweth observed my find in an inquiring silence

“Drowners are sanitary creatures.” Irritated at how my face warmed from his inquisitive gaze, I gestured towards the Ismena. “They only do their business on certain preferred places. They dislike pollution of their waters and will clean it the best they can. If I -”

“If you place it in the river, they’ll be distracted enough to give you time to collect the buckthorn.”

I nodded at his swift conclusion. No wonder he was their leader. To my surprise, his eye didn’t radiate disgust, but reluctant admiration.

“You know a lot about monsters, dh’oine?”

I bit my tongue not to reproach him yet again for not using my name.

"Some. I enjoy observing animals and creatures…”

He nodded in silence and crossed his arms on his chest.

“The river is cold this time of year. Are you sure you can find the buckthorn?”

“Yes.”

My sister made a sound of excitement.

“Morgan swims like a fish! When we still lived by the Lixela, Efa called her Aevon’edd!”

My stomach sank at the sight of Ioweth’s cold expression.

“Child of the river,” he muttered with a derisive exhale through his nose. “Let us be on our way.”

*

The gurgled barks of a group of drowners reached us from the bend of the river. The monsters skipped and dug their way into the sands of the river bank.

The best way of crossing the Ismena would be right behind the drowners, over a shallow passage. The buckthorn grew a few yards further up the bend, where the waters widened into a hollow.

“How long until they notice the pollution?” Iorweth loomed over me as I crouched behind a bush. My sister and the rest of the commando remained a few feet further down the riverbed.

“I’ll make a trail away from the bank, and spread it upstream. I need my crossbow if any of them notices me.”

He shot me a cold glare. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

With a curt nod, he left to join the others.

Swearing silently, I took the leaf sack and tossed a sample of the nekker dung into the river. It streamed downwards towards the drowners. Moving upstream, I observed the monster’s reaction from my hideout.

The drowner scolded their young by a series of upset croaks. I smiled. Drowner younglings learned sanitary behaviour through punitive actions. Next, the adult drowners swam to gather the dung, exclaiming rabid gurgles of discontent. They carried the excrements in their scaly arms to a designated area on the sandy banks. Busy with their task, the monsters took no notice of the elves and human that crossed the river merely a few yards from their territory.

My sister waded through the stream, hands grazing the surface of the water. I held my breath as she lost her footing in the strong current. Fast as lightning, Shioned reached out and took her hand. It must have hurt, for the elf scowled and grit her teeth, but she held on tight.

I breathed again as they all made it to the other side. Without hesitation, I went to my task.

My skin broke out in goosebumps from a chill gust of wind. I had stripped to my tunic and leggings, my other garments and packing held by Iorweth. After throwing the last of the dung down the stream, I ran upstream to where it widened to an inert flow. Arms stretched over my head, I dived into the cold waters.

The deep resonance of the currents drowned all other noise. At first, my senses registered nothing but the chill tang of the waters. The orange-tinged leaves of the buckthorn appeared like a brown dot on the river floor. My pulse quickened.

Inhaling another breath of air, I swam until I reached the herb. The fleshy leaves slipped in my hands as I pulled at them to release the stem, flower and the root.

A violent tug hurt my leg. Though a hazy cloud of bubbles, the green and blue colours of a drowner appeared. The monster retreated but turned to pull at me again.

My veins froze with fear. I searched for my crossbow that wasn’t fastened at my hip.

The drowner reached for me with clawed hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speech (you guys know this, but still):  
> N’aen aespar a me – Don’t shoot me.  
> Hav’careen – Hawker  
> Dh’oine – Human  
> Aen Seidhe – Elf (People of the hills)  
> Muire d’yaeblen – Drowners
> 
> I’ve been using [this map](https://orig00.deviantart.net/e0f5/f/2018/007/1/2/ortelius__the_witcher_map_2_0_by_sarotiv-dbzal6m.jpg) for orientation in this fic. 
> 
> Thank you for the encouragement on the first chapter! It means a lot <3


	3. Chapter 3

I lifted my arms to protect my face when an arrow swished through the waters. It penetrated the drowner’s neck in a cloud of bubbles. The monster lurched and screamed in a panicked gurgle. A stream of blood flowed from its wound like a fog, blurring my vision.

I swam, pushing through the water until my limbs ached. Reaching the surface, I inhaled a large gulp of air and fell onto the sand of the river’s edge, spitting and coughing.

How could I've missed that last drowner? I cursed. A few drops of blood erupted from a tear on my foot.

Iorweth loomed on a cliff, bow in hand. Our eyes met, but neither said a word.

Teeth clattering, I neared the flames of the lit fire. Water dripped from my every limb and pooled at my feet. My sister welcomed me with a blanket, took the buckthorn from my hands and helped me clean the rasp from the drowner’s claws.

*

Iorweth decided for a long, much-wanted pause after the traverse of the Ismena. I dried my clothes by the fire and ate a meal of soaked oats, fruits and nuts.

Delys mixed the root of the buckthorn with herbs and the fat from the deer into a poultice. The male elves rested a few feet from us, mumbling words in Elder Speech. Ele’yas and Ciaran sent sly smiles my way.

Ciaran approached me, a mug of hot tea in his hands.

“Well done, dyfirg." He winked.

I accepted the tea with a frown. The word was unfamiliar to me.

Delys arched an eyebrow. “I think they are impressed with you.”

I hummed. ‘Dyfirg' was probably Elder Speech for ‘shit tosser’. I didn’t desiderate to continue our travels with the Scoia’tael referred to that epithet.

Delys approached Shioned. The elf observed her in reverent silence. My sister lifted her shirt and applied the brown poultice to the cut across her ribs in careful dabs. Shioned hissed in a pained inhale when the herbal mush touched the wound but opened her eyes in a grateful gaze to her caregiver.

“Thank you.” Her voice was deep, slightly husky. She placed her hand on Delys’. Both stilled, drinking each other in.

A worried flash ran through my guts. What was happening between those two?

A high, melodious tune interrupted my concern. Iorweth, ensconced on a tree branch above us, played a melancholy tune on a flute. Listening to the notes, my mother’s words entered my mind from memory: _evil men have no music_.

She must have been wrong.

“Hey dyfirg,” Ele’yas hollered at me from his position on a fur, tossing an acorn in his hand, “what’s brown and sounds like a bell?”

I ignored him.

“Dung!” He let out a burst of laughter. Ciaran snorted.

I rolled my eyes. What a dolt.

Iorweth kept playing his recorder.

*

During the decamping, I approached the commander, a frustrating mix of entitlement and worry rising like a pressure in my chest.

“What do you want with the key?”

He didn’t respond but continued packing his satchel.

“Answer me.”

“I would if I thought you’d understand. Do you even know what it is, dh’oine?”

I shifted on my feet. “I’ve always assumed it’s a trinket…”

“Proof of your simplistic mind. You were planning on selling it, weren’t you? You hav’careen dh’oine care about nothing but coin.”

The rasp of shame from his words embittered into a wave of antagonism towards this ploughing, arrogant elf.

“I need your help to get the sawmill back,” I hissed, face burning, “and I’ve promised you the key. But when we find it, I hope you choke on it. After this is all over, I never want to see you or your terrorist band again.”

I turned on my heel. Iorweth grabbed my wrist and tugged, eye radiating contempt.

“So full of hatred. But you don’t understand the meaning of the sentiment. I was born into war, have fought wars my entire life. When you’ve had your lands stolen, your history and culture erased, and your people slaughtered to the brim of extinction, then you can speak to me of hate.”

My heart hammered in my chest. I tugged to free my arm from his grasp.

“Do you think elves are the only ones to have experienced pain and loss? That -”

“Not another word, dh’oine. I’ve had enough of it for one day.” He let go of me in a push.

The pressure of his fingers left a mark on my skin, but his words hurt the most.

I had promised my mother to never continue the legacy of hatred between the races. I failed.

*

By nightfall, we camped by an abandoned hunter’s hut, spreading our furs on the dry ground. The campfire crackled and sent occasional, dancing sparks towards the starry sky.

Shioned’s bandages showed no sign of infection. A smile smoothed her face and the crease of pain between her eyebrows vanished.

The elves spent the bulk of the night preparing something they called lembas, a meal baked from pounding dried meat into flour and mixing it with wild rice or grain, and animal fat. The elves formed the mush into round, cake-like forms.

In one simple dish, the lembas provided you with all the forms of energy sources you needed. They tasted rather dull but filled the belly for hours. Plus, the cakes took up little space in our packing.

Delys occupied her hands by weaving shoe bands from woollen threads, crooning a lullaby from our childhood. The exact meaning of the words escaped us but we had fallen asleep to it more times than we could count.

Shioned asked my sister how she knew the song. Delys told her of our childhood at the sawmill, and of Efa who sang us the lullaby.

“Do you know what the words mean?”

“Only a few,” my sister admitted.

The elf recited to her in Common Speech,

Night has come.  
The heart has slowed  
waiting for another time  
Your dreams will show  
times of unity  
times of understanding

“That’s beautiful,” Delys breathed. Shioned nodded and leaned forward with an open, curious glance into my sister’s face.

“Your eyes have the same colour as the amber stones I collected as a child by the Buina.”

I frowned. Delys blushed and lowered her lashes.

Shioned smiled and pointed at the band in my sisters’ hands. “Would you like me to show you a common elven pattern?”

Delys accepted, and Shioned used the scrap threads to weave a band with her fingers in a zigzag pattern. Delys observed the technique, I followed her craft with no less interest.

My sister finished her bands, weaved in a square pattern, and offered them to me. Smiling, I wrapped them around my wrist.

The male elves smoked their pipe in silence. Ele’yas cracked the joints in his hands in a way that made my skin crawl.

I recollected my earlier spat with Iorweth and blushed from resentment. Our mother told us the Scoia’tael were murderers, terrorists to many, but freedom fighters to others. Had we been born elven, she asked, had we not also wished to join the struggle for emancipation?

Our mother would have been proud of us, sitting by the bonfire and sharing knowledge of songs and patterns of shoe bands with elves. But it didn’t make a centuries-old path of violence possible to break. She believed in reconciliation, but I suspected the races did best in living separately, in peace.

We lifted our heads when Iorweth stepped close, uttering Shioned’s name in a low, disapproving tone. He tweaked his head in a motion to let her know he wished to speak to her in private. When they returned after a few minutes, she kept a certain distance to us.

“Shioned has healed enough to traverse the mountains,” Iorweth announced, “we’ll start our ascent tomorrow. Be prepared for a tough climb.”

Instead of resting, he and Ciaran left the camp. They didn’t return until after we had fallen asleep under the stars, lulled by the sounds of the crackling embers and the distant flush of the Ismena.

*

The next morning, Ciaran approached us with a large bag over his shoulders. The elves prepared for the traverse over the mountains by adding a layer of clothes to their typical garments. Ciaran wore a long, woollen surcoat, Shioned a similar sheepskin jacket and a cap. Ele’yas and Iorweth wore grey, hooded capes. Snowshoes hung on their packing, strung from animal tendons and leather on a round, wooden frame.

The bag contained warm stockings, capes with fur-lined hoods, woollen socks and knitted wrist warmers. In silence, we dressed the items, stupefied by the consideration the elves displayed. In my case, the stupefaction soon soured into resentment. They didn’t dress us to be kind.

“How many humans did you kill to get us these clothes?”

Iorweth ignored me. He fastened his bow and quiver to his back.

“The path we’re taking over the Mahakam will allow us to traverse it fast, but these parts of the mountain tend to be full of harpies, so watch your heads”.

“If that’s true, give me my crossbow,” I implored.

He gained a look of disdain.

“We have enough weapons to kill a few _adar dhyn_.”

I clenched my jaw. The ghost of the familiar weight of the bow ached on my hip. I would rather he asked me to march naked than without it.

Arguing over the bow was futile. The journey over the Mahakam began.

*

On certain high ridges of the Makaham, the snow remained all the way into the fifth Savaed. The forces of wind and rain left their mark on the porous cliffs, carving winding tunnels and pointy creases.

Nature marked the stone, but nothing shaped the mountain like the activities of dwarves. On our traverse, we passed large statues of voluptuous women and sturdy men with beards. Inside the mountain, great halls and enormous caveats were carved throughout millennia to serve as the dwarves abodes. The thought of standing on top of their homes never left my mind as we climbed the path guided by Iorweth.

Squinting against the sun, I gazed over the surface of the cliffs. As children, our mother told us the legend of a great dragon living on top of the Makaham mountains. A part of me wished it were true, but encountering a dragon would probably be the last thing I did.

Delys panted, her cheeks rosy from the exertion of the climb. By late afternoon, we reached the summit, from where the path towards our descent into Aedirnian lands would be easier to traverse.

The winds stilled in a blessed calm. Only the shrill cry of an eagle penetrated the air. Upon the grey of the stone and the white of the snow, the sun threatened to blind us.

The mountainous landscape spread to the east. Towards the west, the entirety of the Ellander forests and plains stretched before us. The glitter of the Ismena and the brick tiles of the rooftops of Ellander city appeared in the light of the sun.

I pulled my hood around me, grateful for the extra warmth it provided. Dear Melitele, I prayed, let Yanis find the letter. He must be so worried.

After a pause where we ate our rations of lembas and drank plenty of water, we continued over the mountain ridge. My thighs burned from our escalation. I glanced at Delys whose shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Hurrying past Ciaran and Shioned to demand Iorweth that we soon made camp, I stopped at a looming shadow.

“ _Gar’ean! Adar dhyn!_ ” Ele’yas exclaimed.

Iorweth pushed me against the cliff, equipping his bow with a flowing movement.

Shioned lunged for Delys, who cried out in terror, and pulled her to me. I placed my sister between myself and the cliff. The elf grabbed her bow and shot an arrow at an attacking harpy, her teeth clenched in pain from the still sore wound in her side. She immediately sunk her arms, too pained to continue. Ciaran and Ele’yas disappeared in a cloud of screeching, feathered monsters. They emerged as the Iorweth shot their attackers down.

He raised his bow to aim at another monster. My crossbow appeared underneath his cloak, fastened to his hip.

“Give me my bow!” I shouted, “Iorweth, please!”

He ignored me and hit another harpy that fell with a strangled squawk, shot in the throat. More harpies approached with menacing screeches. Ciaran bled from a cut in the face, and Ele’yas slashed at the monsters with his daggers, his bow lost on the ground.

“Please!” I cried, panic rising. My sister sobbed behind me, her fingers digging into the fabric of my cloak.

With a curse, Iorweth unfastened my crossbow from his hip and threw it to me, together with my pack of bolts. My hands trembled as I loaded the bow and lifted it. I placed a bolt between the eyes of an attacking harpy.

The air grew thick with the screeches of injured or killed monsters. Ele’yas daggers swished and cut through bodies, arrows and bolts flew from tensed strings of bows. A heavy scent of blood rose from the splattered snow, red from blood. A bead of sweat trickled down my temple as I fired a bolt and hit the wing of a harpy. It snarled in pain.

My muscles ached. When a single bolt remained in my pack, the harpies scuttled and flew to the opposite mountain ridge, defeated. I let out a relieved, exhausted sigh.

Around us lay feathered bodies pierced by arrows and bolts. To my satisfaction, I had killed more harpies than Ele’yas and Ciaran, but who was counting? The elves pulled arrows from bodies to clean and reuse, I stepped forward to do the same.

Iorweth stopped me, an unreadable expression on his face. He dropped his eye to the crossbow at my hip, up to my face, a question in his face.

“I won’t use it against you,” I grumbled. He didn’t answer by ripping the bow from my hands, a silent agreement of sorts.

Ciaran swore a screed in Elder Speech. “Why were there so many of them?” He brushed a black feather from his shoulder in an angry motion.

All turned their heads at a faint cry from around the nearest block of limestone.

“Help me! Please!”

Iorweth took the lead as we approached a narrow crevice in the cliff from which the cries of help emanated. The tip of a leather boot and a few small fingers, nails cracked and dirty, peeked out from the hole.

“Is the coast clear?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word for harpy - adar dhyn (man fowl)- isn't 'proper' Elder Speech. Whenever I've wanted to add a phrase in Elder Speech that doesn't exist, I've used a word in Irish or Welsh. Such as the word for otter - dyfirg, which is my version of the Welsh word, dyfrgi. 
> 
> Gar'ean is Elder Speech. It means 'watch out'.
> 
> *Extreme Eric Idle voice* What's brown and sounds like a bell? Dung! is taken from a Monthy Python sketch. 
> 
> The elven lullaby is inspired by In Uthenera (Leilana's song) from Dragon Age: Origins.
> 
> According to the elven calendar, the 5th Savaed occurs between the first of May to Midaete, on the twentieth of June.


	4. Chapter 4

Out from the crevice slid a gnome, a middle-aged male with brown hair greying at the temples, and a tufty moustache. His shirt hung from his shoulders in bloodied tears and one of his leather boots lacked a heel.

I flinched when his face came into the light. The harpies had clawed his prominent nose into a pulp.

The gnome’s face split in a large, yellow-toothed smile.

“Sidh!” He flicked his gaze around. “And humans! Praise the mother!” He spoke in a nasal voice. Wide-eyed, he surveyed us up and down.

“You are squirrels! Oh, you must help me! It is because I sold my wares to the likes of you that I am in such a predicament! The bastard fowls took my nose… my beautiful nose…”

“Calm, gnome, and tell us your name. Why are you here, alone?”

Surprised by the lack of edge in Iorweth’s voice, I stilled as the gnome spoke.

“Berthold Marklund, commander! Bertie called. I’ve lived in the Mahakam for over thirty years. When the war broke out, I wished to support the non-human cause and sold my wares to guerilla gangs - such as yourself! I’m a craftsman you see! I make the best light armour this side of the Pontar. But as the war was over, the council of elders punished everyone who had a deal with the black ones. I’ve never even met a Nilfgaardian!”

The gnome sobbed and fisted Iorweths tunic.

“They forced us to work without claiming anything to be ours! Like slaves! I managed to escape, only to be nearly mauled to death by these feathered devils!”

I swallowed. The dwarves punished war criminals in similar ways as humans did.

Iorweth shoulders tensed, his eye grew dark. He put a firm hand on the small man’s shoulder.

“We’ll take you to the foot of the mountain. Stop crying and let go of my clothes.”

The gnome exhaled in a series of joyful sobs, his breath whisking in the cold air. My sister removed her hooded cloak to give to the man, but Iorweth stopped her. He took off his own cloak and gave it to Bertie before he signalled for us all to continue moving.

To witness such a selfless act from Iorweth flipped all my conceptions of him upside down. I didn’t know how to make sense of it.

A bitter thought ran through my mind like acid: _he only treats humans with disdain_.

The harpies shrieked and cawed from their cliff, furious to have lost their snack.

*

That night, we made camp sheltered by a steep cliff. Ciaran lit a fire. Our shadows ran across the stone walls, coloured by the tangerine flames.

Delys attended the scratches and claw wounds on Ele’yas arms before she turned to the gnome. Bertie sat, drowning in the cloak of Iorweth, with a large smile on his little face and a piece of lembas in his hand.

“The mother sent you! I knew my time hadn’t come. Oh, those harpies! Smells like rotten eggs! Ugh!” He spat on the floor.

I handed him a mug of water.

“You escaped… from inside the Makaham?” Our mother thought of gnomish communes as a model for successful societal structures. I always assumed the Makahaman dwarves lived in similar types of communities.

“I did,” Bertie confirmed, “for a long time, I lived a good life with the dwarves! Had my own house… a workshop… friends... “ He gained a mournful expression.

Delys held a cloth dipped in an antiseptic liquid towards his face. The gnome flinched and extended his hands to protect his mauled nose.

“Not the nose - please!” He shrieked.

“I only want to help,” Delys pleaded, but Bertie threw his cloak over his head and vanished under it.

Iorweth approached and placed his bow against the wall of the cliff.

“Leave the man alone and rest. We have an arduous traverse over the mountain tomorrow. If we march fast enough, we’ll reach Aedirn in a fortnight.”

We agreed in silence and lay to rest after Delys cleaned the cut in Ciaran’s face.

*

The snoring sounds of Bertie kept me awake. At least the sight of him sleeping with a satisfied expression on his face warmed me enough to forgive his wheezing sounds. The embers of the fire radiated a pleasant heat, and in the sky, the stars twinkled cold and clear. The world continued in gentle indifference to us, which was a strangely reassuring thought.

A rustle alerted me to the shift of watch. The elves took turns to make sure no harpies or other creatures disturbed us. Earlier, I volunteered to be the first to take the watch, but Iorweth rejected my request. From my sleepy state, his presence appeared in a haze as he let Shioned, who had been on the previous watch, go to sleep. She lay on the furs, twisting and turning as if unable to rest.

Before I tumbled into sleep, my ears caught the sound of my sister getting up from her fur. Delys tiptoed to where Shioned lay, kneeled beside her and sank into the elf’s embrace.

By Melitele’s tits. I had to talk to Delys come morning.

*

My sister had climbed back into the furs beside me the next morning and woke with a serene smile of her lips. I did my best to hide my worry, waiting for an opportune moment to speak to her.

We marched in a near exhausting pace. The cliffs and blocks of snow offered steady ground underneath our snowshoes. From time to time, Shioned let her hand graze Delys’. My sister smiled in response.

When Bertie couldn’t keep up with us on his short legs, Ciaran gave him a piggyback ride. From his position from the elf’s back, the gnome chatted merrily. He told us how we were the best of people, how he would tell his old mother of the kindness of the Scoia’tael, and how he wished to repay us.

The clouds covered the otherwise sharp, blinding rays of the sun, bouncing on the layer of snow that covered the peaks of the Makaham. We encountered a few more harpies, but they posed little problems to the exacting shots from the elves’ bows.

During a short pause, I squinted to the east where the landscape of Aedirn spread before us. Sombre colours of brown and yellow dominated the sight, from fields exposed from the melted snow, along with the green of pine and yew forests.

In front of us, the curtain walls surrounding Asheberg appeared. Further to the east lay the rolling landscape of Lormark, and the clear air permitted us to see all the way to the mysterious lands of Dhol Blathanna. Turning my gaze to the south, the near obliterated remains of Vengerberg appeared, partly covered by thick clouds at the horizon.

Would the Nilfgaardian Emperor - him they called The White Flame Dancing on the Grave Mounds of His Enemies - attack the North again? For how long would we live in peace? Continuing our traverse over the mountain, thoughts of the war occupied my mind.

As night fell, we made camp inside a colossal cave, large like a cathedral of Eternal Light. We stepped into the cavern as if swallowed by a gigantic creature. Echoing droplets fell inside its belly and tall stalagmites reached towards the roof to meet their fellow stalactites in an embrace. Curious drawings of bearded men and voluptuous women covered the cavern walls.

The others gathered around the fire to enjoy a meal of fresh salmon caught in a nearby mountain lake. I approached Delys to speak to her in private.

“Delys,” I whispered when I was sure the others couldn’t overhear us, “we need to talk. I don’t think you should… befriend Shioned more than you already have. She’s an elf, a Scoia’tael. They might kill us once they get their hands on the key.”

I regretted voicing my concern to her and blurted, “But I promise I’ll -”

“Is that what you think?” Delys voice resonated calm like the mountain lake. “That they hate us so much? Have you asked why they want the key so badly?”

I halted at her words. “Delys, the Scoia’tael aren’t some common band of brigands robbing people of their coin. They are terrorists that murder humans because - yes because they hate us!”

Delys grew silent. Her eyes glazed over in thought.

“I remember when we first heard of the Scoia’tael. Efa said they would result in non-humans being even worse off in Kaedwen than before. She was right. But do you remember what she also said? That violence begets violence, and that hate begets hate.”

She turned to face me.

“Shoined told me she joined the Scoia’tael to revenge her brother and fight for a free nation for elves. But when the war was over, Francesca Findabair renounced them and left the squirrels to be hunted and killed. They are not allowed to enter the Valley of Flowers, ever.”

A cold spike of surprise rang through me. I assumed the elves remained in commandos throughout the Northern Kingdoms out of antipathy towards humans. To revenge the wrongs done to them in the past.

The Scoia'tael were used as pawns, sacrificed by their own? My mouth tasted like ash.

“So, the reason they still fight is…”

“To find the key.”

I had to still in thought from this revelation before I turned to my sister again.

“What do you think it is - the key?”

“Well, keys are made for doors, right? So, it must open some kind of door.”

“Do you think it’s that literal?”

“Why not? It’s not important. Do you know what I think? That Iorweth is right. He spoke in anger, but perhaps the key does belong to the elves, and not to you.”

Resentment flashed in me at her words. Our mother hid the key for me to find, one day, when we needed it. Ever since we left the sawmill and joined Arno’s hawker band, the key symbolised the means to rebuild the mill and live a better life. The deal with the elves meant I would have to find another way to get us coin.

“Delys…”

An unusual edge tinged her voice. “As for your request that I do not ‘befriend’ Shioned, I am free to give my affection to whoever deserves it. I am not a child anymore. You need to accept that.”

I flinched and stared into her eyes. Her words were true, still, they rasped at my insides. She wasn’t my baby sister anymore. One day, Delys would lead a life without me, where others would mean more to her than I did.

“Let us eat,” she announced, and I followed her, sheepishly, to the others.

*****

During our meal, Bertie breached the subject of why two humans travelled with a commando of elves. His fear of Delys’ care had ceased; he sported a white bandage wrapped around his nose.

Iorweth stated that we had a common pursuit in Kaedwen, which interested the gnome greatly, but the elf refused to go into detail of the nature of the quest.

After another failed attempt at prying, Bertie sighed in resignation and turned to me.

“I suppose it’s futile to ask you why you have banded with the elves?”

I nodded. If Iorweth didn’t wish to speak of it, then maybe I shouldn’t either.

Bertie made a gesture with his hands. “I wish to get to know you all better. Do you have a profession, Morgan?”

I swallowed down a piece of the fried salmon. “Yes, I and Delys are - entertainers.”

“Entertainers! I thought Delys was a healer!”

“I am,” she concurred, “but I also do circus acts with Morgan and our father, Yanis.”

The gnome gasped. “Circus! I have never seen a circus act! Oh, you must show me! I take great interest in human culture, you know.”

The glances of the elves burned my skin. “I don’t know, Berthold…”

“Please, I beg you!”

I shrugged, grabbed three walnuts from our provision, and juggled them for a few throws.

“Marvellous! Another, please!” he squeaked.

Blushing at his praise for such a simple act, I stood up, brushed my palms against my hips and raised my hands. Bending my knees, I did a single backflip and landed on my feet, hands outstretched.

Bertie and Delys applauded. The elves, who hitherto had feigned disinterest, observed me with curiosity.

Delys stood with a smile. She removed her skirt to reveal the knitted stockings and linen trews underneath, grabbed my hands and placed a foot on my thigh. In a trained movement, I fixated my arms for leverage. She turned and stood on her hands, closing her legs from a v position. We wobbled from the effort but could have done the well-rehearsed stunt in our sleep.

Claps of hands interrupted the tensed silence, the most enthusiastic applause coming from Bertie. I released my arms from their locked position, Delys pushed to jump down and landed on her feet in an elegant bow.

“Incredible!” The gnome cheered, “stupendous!”

A smile spread on my face. I’d never had an audience less difficult to please than Bertie.

The elves lit the pipe with their herbal blend. Ele’yas smiled with a tinge of mockery in contrast to Bertie’s wide and earnest grin.

Ciaran stood and gestured to me. “Will you show me how you do that trick, dyfirg?”

“I guess,” I answered tentatively, unsure of the intent of his question, “but it’s not a matter of strength, but of technique.”

“So, show me. Let me lift you.”

I shrugged. Perhaps Ciaran wished to be entertained, like Bertie. Yet, the stunt took some practise, and I wasn’t prepared to get hurt to please him.

“I can show you another technique, where you lift me by the hips.”

“Even better.”

I frowned at the comment but instructed him how to stand. Directing his hands to my hips, I pushed with my feet on his thighs and erected my body to balance us. When his strength wavered, I told him to unlock his arms and let me down. He put me on the ground, I grasped his shoulders, both struggling to regain balance.

“Good,” I said, irritated by the slyness in his smile, how he held onto my waist a second longer than necessary, and how my face warmed.

Neither did I know why I cast a glance at Iorweth, who met my gaze but turned to smoke his pipe.

*

The next day, Ele’yas was gone. I commented on his absence but got no other response than a chuckle from Ciaran and a dour head shake from Iorweth.

“Ele’yas will join us again once we reach Vergen,” he grumbled.

“He usually leaves us for a week or two whenever we cross the Makaham,” Shioned explained in a low voice, “to visit a succubus who lives in the premise.”

Had my jaw dropped any lower than it did, it would have caused a crack in the cavern floor.

“They’re dangerous! They steal the dreams of men and kill them!”

“Succubi are not dangerous,” Bertie interjected, his nasal voice tinged with mirth, “not in the way you think. Some men have gone mad from consorting with them, even killed themselves, but they are not dangerous like a harpy or an alp.”

He twinned his moustache and snickered. “He’s been visiting her several times? I take back what I said. Sounds like he is in trouble! Hihihi!”

Iorweth shot him a glare, arms crossed on his chest.

“I don’t mean to offend!” Bertie avowed, “I simply find it interesting with interspecies relations - succubi, gnomes, dwarves, humans and elves!” He smiled at Delys and Shioned.

My mood darkened like a cloud over the sun.

“Not that elves and humans are different species,” the gnome continued and took a bite from a piece of lembas, unaware of how the rest of us stiffened.

“Gnome,” Iorweth growled, “what in the plague are you talking about?”

Bertie stopped from taking another bite with a look of surprise by the sinister tone in the elf’s voice.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Humans and elves have offspring that procreate themselves. The existence of quadroons suggests you aren’t different species at all… unlike the horse and the donkey that breeds the infertile mule.” He let his gaze wander around with a stubborn expression.

“Hogwash,” Ciaran snorted and flipped a walnut in his hand, “We aren’t even from the same worlds. You’ve gone mad, gnome.”

Bertie opened his mouth to protest, but Iorweth interrupted him.

“No more nonsense. I want you all ready to leave within the hour. Today we descend the mountain and begin our journey towards the Pontar.”

Everyone concurred, the atmosphere thick with irritation. Shioned observed my sister with a strange light emanating from her eyes.

*

Less arduous than the climb from the Temerian side, our descent from the mountain to Aedirn went without trouble. Iorweth let us pause at the base. A light drizzle painted our clothes in moist patches, droplets hung from hems and bands. Scents of spring erupted everywhere; budding leaves, earth alive from the tips of grass bursting from the soil.

We discarded our soaked woollen parkas and cloaks. Iorweth turned to the gnome and bade him goodbye, but Bertie clung to the elf’s tunic once more.

“Take me to Vergen, commander, I beg you! Others from my commune sometimes go to the city to trade. I’m afraid of the forest!”

With the large cloak and bandaged nose, he didn’t give the impression of being capable of taking care of himself in the Aedirnian hinterlands.

“I’ll repay you by making you better armour! That hauberk you’re wearing - forgive me sir, but it needs some work. As do your gloves. And your boots -”

“Fine, gnome. We’ll take you to Vergen,” Iorweth pursed his lips.

“The mother bless you!” Bertie squeaked from happiness. I and Delys chuckled, hands over our mouths at the adorable expression on his face.

We continued north, following the side of the mountain as the forests held no human settlements. Because of his state, still weakened from starvation and the cold, Bertie soon ran out of steam. Iorweth stepped forward to take him on his back, but I stopped him with a motion with my hand.

“I’ll take him.” For the first time, I cast the elf a quick smile. He hesitated, but as I lifted the exhausted gnome on my back, he wordlessly agreed and took my satchel. The gesture warmed me, but I wasn’t going to show it.

We continued our journey. The gnome fell asleep by the rocking motions of my walk and snored harmoniously in my ear.

*

When we made camp to rest for the night, the rain subdued, and the skies coloured in a handsome tinge of pink which told of a coming, sunny day. The frogs held serenades in a nearby millpond, and a blackbird chirped from a tall birch.

I approached Iorweth as he was busy stringing his bow by a pine tree.

“Iorweth,” I ventured, “That day in Ellander… how did you know me and Delys had the key?”

He turned to answer me face-to-face. I blinked. Normally, he’d let me speak to his back or his side, a sign of how little he thought of my presence. The gesture unsettled me in a way I couldn’t explain.

“I didn’t. We spied on your hav’careen band to understand how much you were fooling us by overcharging wares. When your companions tried to kill each other, we acted. Imagine my surprise when we realized they fought over the key.” He snorted in a short, ironic smile. “To have it in my reach through mere chance… It’s almost enough to make you believe in fate.”

“How can you be sure it’s the key you’ve been looking for?”

“I can’t. But I’m willing to risk it.”

“Listen,” I said, tensed but resolved, blinking down on the mat of dry leaves on the ground, “if it is as you say, that the key belongs to the elves, then I… I believe you. I don’t have high thoughts of you, but I don’t think you would go to Kaedwen and risk everyone's lives for something insignificant.”

A spark of surprise lit in his eye. He stood and crossed his arms on his chest, an expression of reluctant interest written on his face.

“So, you’ve decided to honour our deal, not to make sure your sister is safe, but because you believe it’s the right thing to do.”

I ignored the tinge of cynicism in his voice. “Yes. I still consider the key to rightfully belong to my mother,” I continued, “but she is dead. It should be returned to elven hands. I only want to know one thing.”

“Speak, dyfirg.”

“It’s rude to give people names!” I hissed, “oh, never mind. I want you to tell me why the key is so important to you.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You owe it to us!” I growled through clenched teeth.

“Do I owe the human race? Or you and your sister?” His question rasped from anger.

“Me and Delys,” I confirmed, unsure if I had given him the right answer.

Several heartbeats passed. He unlocked his arms from his chest and beckoned me to walk a bit into the forest. When we reached a spot where our conversation wouldn’t be overheard, he continued.

“What do you know about Aelirenn, dh’oine?”

His use of the elven slur for human pinched my heart.

“We call her Elirena... She led the elven uprising two hundred years ago that resulted in a massacre and the destruction of Shaerrawedd.”

He clapped his hands in an irritating, mock gesture of admiration.

My eyes widened at a thought.

“Were you there?”

“In a sense,” he replied with a narrow eye cast. “My mother gave birth to me on the battlefield. I was literally born into war.”

I arranged my facial features to not display my surprise to hear of the circumstances of his birth, nor of his age. Iorweth was not a young elf.

“Why does the key have her name? What is it?”

“No one is really sure. But according to the legend, Aelirenn’s tomb is hidden in the catacombs underneath the ruins of Shaerrawedd. The key opens it. Once the key is found and Aelirenn’s spirit is free, she will return to lead us into battle again.”

I froze, horrified.

“The key is a weapon?” I whispered.

“No one knows. Different versions of the legend exist, some more violent than others. All state the key will unlock a secret that will end the strife of elves in this world.”

I clenched the hem of my shirt, heart aching with confusion. Why would my mother want me to ‘take care of the key’? To prevent more violence?

“I can’t let you have the key if you’ll use it to start another war. I can’t.”

A cold expression of anger fell like a mask over the elven commander’s face.

“Do you make promises so lightly, dh’oine? If it is a weapon, I will wield it. If it’s not, I will wield it differently. Either way, we will help you get your bloede sawmill, and you will give the key to me.”

He took a step forwards. I squared my shoulders, heart rate speeding.

“We could kill you and find the mill ourselves,” he hissed, “but I respect vows, and I’ve wasted enough time. You will direct me to the exact the location of the key, and we will part. I hope we’ll never meet again, because if we do,” he glanced down at the crossbow at my hip, “I sense it will be the last thing either one of us does.”

He brushed past me. I stared at his tensed shoulders, the double limbs of his bow fastened to his back. A surprising chill ran through me at the thought of ever raising my crossbow against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I read Sapkowski's books, I was intrigued by the issue of elves and humans being simultaneously drawn to and repelled by each other. It is implied that the mixing of the races (or are they really different races?) was more accepted among both cultures before the Northern wars. The conflict serves as a theme of this fic as it aligns well with the enemies-to-lovers trope. 
> 
> Writing Bertie has been one of the best parts of working on this fic. I love him with all my heart ^^
> 
> The circumstances of Iorweth’s birth and the final resting place of [Aelirenn](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Aelirenn) are both headcanons. 
> 
> I made [ an aesthetic for Delys and Shioned](https://namesonboats.tumblr.com/post/183381540675/i-was-tagged-by-thebittervampire-for-describing) on tumblr <3


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, we camped by the Dyphne, a tributary to the Pontar. I woke with a feeling of unease. My skin prickled from layers of dried sweat, a few cuts on my arms stung, and my hair pasted against my skin in tufts.

I turned to our commander. “I’d like to wash up.”

Ciaran got up from his furs with a gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll take you to the river.”

“No.”

“The forest is full of dangers. I won’t let you die and lose our chance to get the key because you’re a prude.”

I swallowed and cast a glance at my sister, sleeping on a fur with Bertie, both exhausted. I wished to ask Delys to join me, but she needed her rest. Shioned had left to hunt as our stock of lembas ran low, and Iorweth tended to the fire, feigning not to listen to our argument. I weighed the options of continuing our journey squirming from dirt, and having Ciaran take the watch as I bathed.

“Fine,” I snapped, “but keep a distance.”

“Of course.” He winked, smiling.

I brought my extra pair of leggings and a shirt and washed my clothes by the creek that flowed from the river. To let them dry, I hung them on a branch and put on a tunic to cover myself. Ciaran lay behind the shrubbery on a tree trunk, a straw in his mouth and his bow beside him.

“Don’t be in the river for long, Dyfirg,” he called.

I ignored him.

Stepping down the cliff of the riverbed, I submerged my body and took a wide breaststroke. The waters enveloped me, brisk and wondrous against my grimy skin. From the opposite side of the stream, a long-legged heron flapped to the skies. A school of silvery fish escaped from my proximity like tiny bolts of lightning.

I used a block of soap to scrub at my arms among the water lilies. The currents caressed my limbs and transported the bubbles of the soap downstream in a glitter.

Ready to get up, I darted a glance to the cliff. Ciaran appeared on the sleek rock with a smile and his hand outstretched.

I frowned. “I told you to keep a distance.”

“Don’t be stingy. I only want to help.”

Irritated, I swam towards him until my feet hit the rock.

The water dripped from my soaked tunic when I accepted his hand. With an unexpected move, he pulled me towards him. We landed breast to breast, my eyes wide. His hand sneaked to the back of my head as he pressed his mouth against mine.

I let out a surprised, angered noise. Tampering down the impulse to kick him in the groin, I pushed him from me. His arm locked me in a grip at the small of my back.

“You don’t want to? We have time.” His dark eyes gleamed. He leaned in to let his breath tickle the skin under my ear.

Mind still reeling from surprise, I shook my head. “Let go,” I hissed, “or I’ll make you regret it.”

He let out a laugh in a bark. “Ele’yas told me you can fight! He respects you for it.”

He let go of me with with a crooked grin and shrugged. “Too bad you’re not in the mood. It’s only fun to do it with dh’oine if they want to. Which they often do.”

A hot torrent ran through me as his eyes roamed my figure. I reached for my parkas and covered myself, flushing like an idiot.

“You know, when he and Iorweth brought you to our camp, I first thought you were a young man.” He winked. ”It’s what I like about you.”

I shivered from the cold, hoping he didn’t misinterpret the goosebumps on my skin for want.

“I thought you hated us.”

“Hate is no obstacle for fucking.” His smile turned wolfish. “It makes it better. Have you ever done it in a fit of anger, Dyfirg?”

I didn’t answer. Confusing, unwanted images of Ciaran sleeping with humans intruded my mind. Why did it chill me that contempt could be expressed in lust? I had seen enough to know that the romantic notion of “love-making” was but a euphemism for acts that could stem from many other sentiments, even hate.

Maybe I should do it? Why not? He was beautiful, any idiot could see that. Was I any better than all the women and men who met with elves in ways that defied all notions of romance?

A stone sank in me. Lust wasn’t the emotion that overcame me, but a strange, weighty melancholy.

A rustle caused us both to turn our heads. From the bushes that marked the edge of the riverside, Iorweth stepped out, a tentative expression on his face.

“Your sister is asking for you.”

I exhaled in a rush of relief.

Ciaran let his gaze wander from his leader to me with a knowing smile.

“I see,” he said and walked passed his commander towards the camp. A confused knot tightened in my stomach. What in Melitele's tits did Ciaran ‘see’?

Iorweth crossed his arms and waited for me to dress before we headed back. He didn’t look at me the whole time.

*

Bertie recovered - proof of what good nourishment and rest can do - and ambled beside us the rest of the morning, chewing on a straw and chatting. He never lost his jovial mood, until we reached the edge of the Makaham mountains before the road to Vergen.

He stopped, his scarred nose shivering and his hands in the air. The sound of faint, muffled cries reaches my ears a heartbeat later. Judging from Iorweth’s tensed posture, he heard it too. He equipped his bow, and the rest of his Scoia’tael followed suit.

“It’s coming from the top of that cliff,” Ciaran muttered. He lifted his chin to point at a rock formation half a mile from our position. I squinted against several poles fixed to the rock that I mistook for trees at first glance.

Bertie let out a squeal, a sound so sad and angered I winced. He ran on his short legs towards the other side of the cliff to climb it, shouting, “the bastards!”

We exchanged surprised glances before we ran after him. Delys drew in a breath in a horrified gasp. On the top of the cliff, two dwarves tied to poles trashed and screamed in muffled sounds, their mouths bound by leather straps. I glanced at the third pole; a stain of blood pooled at its base.

Bertie tugged at the strings of a young dwarf dressed in a black and green checkered shirt, wearing a short, ginger beard and a shaved head. He came loose and tugged at the leather strap that prevented him from speaking. Shioned freed another dwarf beside him. He wore a long, grey beard and a brick red jacket.

“Run!” the dwarf in the grey beard shouted, “run or she’ll get us all!”

None of us protested but sprinted with the dwarves down the cliff. The dwarves kept casting feared glances towards the skies above the Makaham. Pausing to reach for Delys with my hand, I discovered she had taken Shioned’s. I swore in silence.

We settled by a glen, our backs against the trunks of trees that offered shelter from the open sky. I, Ciaran and Iorweth did a short inspection of the area to secure we hadn’t run into any monster territory.

Bertie fretted and wrung his hands, his scarred nose quivering.

“Marcin! Percival! By the Mother’s grace and glory! Are you hurt?”

The two dwarves took his hands and patted him roughly on the shoulder. The poor gnome nearly fell over.

“Bertie! Bertie Marklund! We thought you were dead!”

They continued their happy banter. The older dwarf in the grey beard recognized Iorweth as the leader of our group and faced him.

“Thank you, Aen Seidhe, and -” He cast a confused glance at me and Delys, “uh, and others. My name is Marcin Lehmann, of house Lehmann, and this is my cousin Percival Lang.” He nodded at the younger, shaved dwarf who grunted a greeting. We are part of the Orthan dwarven community in Makaham. Well, we were, until a year ago, when the elders ostracised us for having sold our wares to the black ones during the war. And since yesterday, we were supposed to be dragon fodder… if you hadn’t saved us.”

All stared at the dwarf in chock.

“A dragon?” Iorweth asked through gritted teeth.

I stopped breathing. Mother was right.

“Aye. A green one. She’s never attacked us before until the Council of Elders decided…”

“Until they decided to punish war criminals by offering them to her like sheep.” Iorweth glared towards the mountains, fists clenched.

Marcin nodded, eyes on the ground.

“How do you know the dragon is green?” Ciaran asked.

“Because I’ve seen her, elf. The blood stain by the last pole… it was a Nilfgaardian. She got him first.” He nudged his jaw. “The poor sod screamed for his mother and pissed himself. I don’t care for humans more than anyone else, but I prayed for that man’s soul.”

“She only took the human?” Shoined asked.

Marcin scratched his beard. “Haven’t thought of it that way… I reckoned she ate him first to take us last.”

Iorweth searched with his gaze into the thicket. “Let us move further into the forest and make camp. We’ll share our provisions. Tomorrow we leave for Vergen. You may join us,” he spoke to Marcin, “if you believe you are safe in the city.”

The eldest dwarf nodded. “Nowhere is a safe place for anyone who collaborated with Nilfgaard. But I know the previous alderman, Cecil Burdon, well. The town governor is human by royal decree, but Cecil has established an underground, parallel rule of the town. He might consider taking us in… We are grateful to share a few of your provisions tonight, commander. More than grateful.”

Marcin’s eyes glittered with tears. I swallowed at the sight, unable to fathom the terror they must have experienced. Tied to poles, forced to witness the death of the Nilfgaardian, knowing the same fate awaited them.

*

By the campfire that night, bellies were full of lembas and hot, willow tree bark, the dwarves gained an appearance of renewed energy. Bertie fussed over his two friends and offered them his rations and his cloak. They smilingly declined.

“Thank you, Bertie,” Percival mumbled. “I’m glad to see you again. I knew you’d escape the Mahakam. If anyone could do it, it’d be you.”

Bertie beamed at the compliment and huffed in mock humility. “Uff,” he said, “I wouldn’t have gotten far if I hadn’t run into these fine folks,” he motioned with his hand at me, Delys, and the elves.

“What are two humans doing travelling with a band of Scoia’tael, if you don’t mind me asking?” Marcin placed the wooden jug of tea on his knee.

After a moment of sullen silence, where only the crackle of the fire was heard, Delys opened her mouth but was silenced by a glare from Iorweth. Ciaran and Shioned stared into the darkness of the woods.

“Oh, it’s all very mysterious,” Bertie said, “they are on a mission together and won’t spill the beans regarding the nature of their quest, it’s all very mysterious indeed...”

“I thought the Scoia’tael hated humans,” Percival asked hesitantly.

No one answered. I twinned a strand of my hair between my fingers and chewed on it.

Shioned caught Delys’ gaze - I don’t hate you, her eyes conveyed. I know, Delys’ smile said. The sight both chilled and warmed me. Bertie noticed their exchange and chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, as if to himself.

“What other sentiments do you propose we have for humans?” Iorweth’s uttered the words in a voice sharp as flint. “They give us no option but to fight or to submit to being second-class citizens, with little more rights than street dogs.”

“Are those the only two options?” Bertie opened his hands in a sincere, warm gesture.

“The way we see it, yes,” Ciaran answered.

Shioned’s expression turned pained.

“That’s the way most of us in the elder races see it,” Bertie said as a matter of fact, “and it is what will ultimately lead to our downfall.”

Ciaran snorted and narrowed his eyes. “We can’t compete with humans because of how they breed - like rabbits.” He smirked at me. A knot hardened in my gut.

“Every year they need more space for their children, and for their women with their bellies that seem to grow just by looking at them. The humans fight us for land, but we refused to leave our palaces and cities to them. Recently, they war amongst themselves and kill each other in droves. Their violent nature will be their downfall.”

I observed the ground, a hot rush warming my face to the tips of my ears. I hated the way elves spoke of human women and our nature. As if we wished to carry numerous babies and risk our lives in childbirth? I resented our biology as much as the elves felt contempt for it, but the comparison to animals chilled me. Rabbits, vermin, leeches; that’s what they called us.

The memory of our encounter by the Dyphne that morning sent a flash of anger through me. It wasn’t fair to scold human procreation and happily seduce humans as if those actions weren’t connected.

“How can you shame us for something we can’t control?” I hissed, anger warming my cheeks.

Oh, why did I bother? Did I believe words would change anything? I was a fool...

Bertie interrupted Ciaran’s attempt at a retort. “A good question! Also, if you elves claim to hate humans so much, why, tell me, do you still fill the world with half-breeds?”

My eyes widened at his bravery to utter the words I only dared to think.

He eyed the Scoia’tael without blinking. “You Sidh always speak of human procreation with such disdain. But you never mention us gnomes!”

All eyed him in surprise.

“I have eight siblings,” Bertie squeaked, “twenty-four nieces and nephews, and a hundred and two cousins. I may be an exception to the rule, but we gnomes know well how to breed, but you never hear elves scoff at our race!”

He made a motion with his hand to interrupt Ciaran who tried to speak, red in the face. His dwarven friends shifted uncomfortably on their seats, but Delys beamed at him with pride.

“No, it is not the ability to breed that has turned the tide for human domination in the world. It is their ability to adapt, and their medicine.”

He let his gaze wander around, daring anyone to contradict him. When no one did, he continued. “Unlike our races, humans spread. They live in places we deem inhabitable - and they thrive. They adapt. I told you I have a large family? Well, most of those I mentioned are dead, because of monsters and ailments that humans have overcome through adaptation and medicine. They find solutions! They survive."

He gained a stern expression.

"Elves trusted the world would never change, but empires always fall. The legacy of that trust is the ruins of your cities. Some of us have adapted, either to live with human or in agreements with them, economically and culturally. I’m telling you if we want to survive, adaptation, not isolation, is the answer.”

A heavy silence fell over our company. Unable to open my mouth, my mind spun from the new perspectives Bertie gave.

The hitherto silent Percival spoke.

“Aye. I was of the same sentiment; it’s why I dealt with the Nilfgaardians. I hoped they would kick the bastards Henselt and Demavend from their thrones and bring peace and justice to non-humans and humans alike. The black one’s brag about their elven ancestry. The Emperor married a woman with elven blood. I thought…”

Marcin continued. “We thought it would be better. Instead, dwarves are attacking dwarves out of fear of what the royal whoresons of Aedirn and Kaedwen might do if we protect our own kind. Redania is in chaos since the young Prince disbanded the regent council and poked the eyes out of his father’s magical advisor. Rumours have it, he’s planning a witch hunt…”

I placed my hand over my mouth. “A witch hunt?”

The dwarf nodded, lips tight.

Iorweth opened his mouth and spoke in an icy tone to Bertie.

“Adaptation means subjugation. Do you suggest we forget how humans slaughtered elves and destroyed our cities - our lands? How they pillaged the earth by ploughing and digging until the earth changed? They separate each other by those who own and those who don’t. Those who own no land must sell their bodies and labour to work at their farms, their mills, their mines and their whorehouses. They envy the skill and beauty of other races and start pogroms when we won’t submit to them. I’d rather fight for my freedom than live like a slave, gnome.”

A jolt of nauseous shame rolled in my stomach.

Again, Bertie retorted with a voice of steel.

“I know of slavery, elf, so do not lecture me. I agree with you, that the economic system of humans creates suffering for the many, to the benefit of the few. But again; do you deride the dwarves for changing the mountains, like they always have, before you arrived in this world? You know as well as I, that the elves wouldn’t adapt and co-habit, because of your pride. You believed your way of life was superior to everyone else's, why all races should be subordinate to yours. If violence will be the downfall of humans, arrogance has certainly been the downfall of elves!”

Delys gasped. The dwarves stiffened. Ciaran and Ele’yas glared daggers at the gnome, who rolled his moustache in a calm expression.

I held my breath, heart pounding. Never in my life had I met anyone as brave as Bertie. I half expected Iorweth to lash out against the gnome and clenched my muscles to interfere.

The commander cast a cold gaze into the darkness that surrounded us.

“We can argue over the right cause of action for the elder races until we choke. It will change nothing. I am tired of talking. You ask why we are travelling with humans; we are searching for Aelirenn’s key. This woman says she knows where it is. Soon, none of this will matter.”

Percival cast him a confused glance. Marcin stared at Iorweth with an eyebrow raised in incredulity.

“Elirena’s key is a legend, a fairy tale for elven children, like the Wild Hunt or the land of Tir ná Lia.”

“The Wild Hunt’s no fairy tale, cousin,” Percival interjected, “I’ve seen them. They ride with a white-haired man…”

“Aelirenn’s key is not a legend,” Iorweth answered. “Whatever these dh’oine have in their possession might not be it, but I’m willing to find out.”

A spark of pity lit in the old dwarfs’ eyes.

Shioned stood and addressed us all. “This has been a long day. Tomorrow, we reach Vergen. I suggest we rest.”

Wordlessly, all agreed. I cast a glance at Bertie. Was he hurt by the heated conversation? I found no way to speak to him without being overheard.

*

The next morning, all packed and prepared to leave. I offered to fill everyone’s waterskins by the stream and asked Bertie if he wished to help me. Smiling, he acquiesced and followed me, waddling on his short legs, arms full of skins.

I cast him a warm glance as we reached the stream, puckered with drops a from light rain. A light fog danced along the shore.

“Bertie,” I ventured, “I wanted to know if you were ok after last night…”

He made a little surprised jump with his eyebrows and twinned his moustache. “Oh dear, don’t you worry about me. Perhaps… you should worry more for our commander.”

Iorweth? I pursed my lips in resentment and filled a skin with cool water.

“I don’t wish to waste any compassion on him.”

Bertie stilled, his large eyes filled with a sadness that surprised me.

“Iorweth and his brethren were used in the war, like pawns, left to be murdered and hunted. He has lost purpose and needs hope. Perhaps this common quest of yours will restore some faith in the world. He’d be foolish to want more wars.”

I dropped one of the skins in the water from surprise. The depth of the heart of this gnome appeared like an uncharted ocean to me. Could he be right? A part of me wanted him to be; that in itself came as a shock.

“He hates us humans so much…”

“Yes, this foolhardy, age-old hate… How do you propose we put an end to it, hm?” The gnome’s eyes shone with kindness. “You know, us gnomes have a word for the elven situation. _Hiraeth_. It is the longing for a place to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was. Grief for lost places of your past.”

I didn’t know how to answer. A lump in my throat silenced me.

We returned to the others to continue towards Vergen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marcin and Percival are named after the two composers of “You’re… Immortal?”, my favourite song from the Hearts of Stone ost. 
> 
> My sense of humour is choosing the name “Lang” for a dwarven oc and then giggle about it for at least five minutes. 
> 
> The Council of Elders as a part of dwarven societal structures is inspired by Dragon Age rather than the Witcher world. 
> 
> I’m not sure how to label Bertie's outlook on the situation of the races - Darwinist-Marxist-Pragmatism? My intention is not to offer “a right way” to understand the conflict between the races in the Witcher world, but to point out its complexity. 
> 
> [Hiraeth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hiraeth) is a welsh concept.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to express how grateful I am to all the wonderful encouragement this fic has received so far. It warms my heart!

 

We arrived in Vergen at noon. To reach the Makaham’s gate, we climbed the cliffs that surrounded the city. The clouds dispersed above us to allow for specks of sunlight to spill over the granite.

The camp outside the gates bustled with life. Dwarves ran in and out tents, children played in the sandy soil. A few dogs raised their heads and barked at us; our arrival didn’t go unnoticed.

Two guards asked for our mission into the city, pointing spears in our faces. Iorweth asked to speak to alderman Burdon, to which they responded by lowering their weapons and exhaling satisfied grunts. It wasn’t difficult to guess where their loyalty lay.

A young dwarf with a short, chestnut beard in three braids and a well-tailored jacket approached.

“Iorweth!” He smiled showing large front teeth. “You here to lose another game of poker?”

The elf responded with a grumble and a pointy eye cast. The dwarf chuckled.

“Skalen!” Marcin bellowed, “I haven’t seen you since you were in diapers! How are you?”

“Marcin, long time no see!”

After a handshake with our dwarven companions, Skalen turned to guide us to Cecil Burdon. We reached an edifice built from pine tree logs and clay, parading the head of a great boar above the entrance. A house fit for an alderman. The dwarf in person waited outside the polished doors.

Cecil Burdon wore a fancy black doublet and a moss green hat that told of his status. He regarded us with a spark of intelligence in his brown eyes, stroking his grey-streaked beard.

“Marcin, Percival,” he grumbled, arms crossed in a less than cordial greeting, “I heard you sided with the black ones in the war. But I didn’t know you were part of the Scoia’tael.”

His eyes widened at the sight of me and Delys.

“Uh,” Cecil scratched his cheek, “and I certainly didn’t know you take in humans among you.”

“We don’t,” Iorweth growled, “we have come to Vergen on a mission. And to escort a few of your brethren.”

“And me,” Bertie squeaked and waved from his position beside Delys.

Cecil blinked at our diverse gang. A part of me took mocking delight in how much confusion our presence with the elves caused them.

Marcin stepped forward. “We are not part of the Scoia’tael, Cecil. But we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for them. The Elders of our clan decided to make an example out of us - to weed out the last of the collaborating dwarves. The strung us to poles and left us as dragon fodder! These fine folks helped us before she ate us alive.”

Cecil Burdon paled. “The dragon … So the legend is true.” He narrowed his small eyes. “I never thought the elders would adjudicate such cruel punishment.”

His jaw pulsed a few moments.

“If I still were the alderman of Vergen, I would have welcomed you without a doubt. What do I care if you collaborated with Nilfgaard! I’m surprised more didn’t! Considering how the kings of Aedirn and Kaedwen have treated non-humans.” He gestured with his hand. “Aye, I say it! Such words will get me hanged, but I spit on human rule! This city will always be a place for all races who wish to live in peace.”

Cecil shook his head.

“But I am no longer in charge. Demavend replaced me by a noble human twat named Humphrey de Alard. Although I’m part of his counsel, I’m legally toothless. I can’t permit any war criminals entrance to the city. "But,” he added, "we’ve built a counter-government outside the walls and control of most trade that flows in and out of the city. You can’t replace the trust in the hearts of the people of Vergen. To them, I am still the rightful alderman. You are welcome to stay in my abode for - what is your mission, by the way?”

“To retrieve an elven artefact.”

“Uh-huh,” Cecil nodded at Iorweth’s answer, “Lots of those stolen from the remains of your palaces and sold on the black market…”

“Alderman,” my sister stepped forward. “We are not part of the Scoia’tael. May we enter the city?”

Iorweth clouded up at her words, but Cecil chuckled.

“Aye, go ahead, lass. I bet you’ll enjoy the market on such a fine day!”

Delys hooked her arm in mine and motioned to Bertie with a radiant smile. We turned to the large, ornamented gates, leaving the rest of our companions looking sheepishly after us.

It wasn’t my first time visiting Vergen; Yanis once brought me to the city more than a decade ago. I craned my neck to observe the familiar abodes carved in the cliff. Dwarves entered and exited doors in the walls and traversed the city through stairs and suspension bridges.

The tavern by the centre of town was still called The Cauldron. Men and women of different races entered the door to have a bit to eat and drink. Outside, a large dog chewed on a chicken bone and a few men observed the notes on the notice board.

Overcome by a wave of recognition, I lifted my gaze to the majestic edifice above the tavern that marked the entrance to a dwarven palace. Carved ornaments, illuminated by scattered lanterns, adorned the frames of winding corridors. Thick wooden beams supported the impressive structure.

“The Castle of the Three Fathers,” Bertie commented at my expression of awe.

I lowered my gaze to the gnome. “Have you been to Vergen before?”

“Yes, thrice at least. It is a marvellous city, but nothing like the complex of the Makaham belly!”

About to ask him of the community inside the mountain, I silenced at the sight of the market area. Scents of cinnamon, roast chicken and fresh fish rode the air. The grunt of a loose pig and cackle of a pair of hens mixed with the laughter of a drunk halfling. Dwarven children tittered, chasing each other and hiding behind their mother’s skirts.

“It’s better than in Ban Gleann!” my sister exclaimed. Bertie asked us about the market in the town closest to our sawmill. I told him how mother and Yanis let us roam the place with a few ducats as children that we spent on cotton candy and glazed apples while admiring the entertainers. Back at the sawmill, we trained to copy their tricks.

My sister approached an elderly human woman who sold silks and furs. She let the delicate cloth slide between her fingers with a sigh. The saleswoman smiled and displayed her collection of facial oils and perfumes, opening a bottle for her to try. At the sight of a green flask, Delys’ smile died in a silent expression of melancholy. Curious, I leaned forward to see what caused her reaction.

“Look,” Delys held the bottle in her hands, “its olive oil tinted with lavender. The same mother used.”

The familiar smell of the oil attacked my senses and brought forwards a wave of memories of my mother’s skin, her hair, the soft linen of her dresses. I had to shudder to return to reality from the trip down memory lane.

I missed her.

Delys returned the flask to the saleswoman. “One day, we’ll have the coin to come back and pay for the oil. Thank you for letting us peruse your wares.”

I took the bottle and handed the saleswoman the required ducats. It cost me more than half the coin I took from Arno, but it was worth it.

My sister widened her eyes. “How -”

“I took it from Arno. These are our payments for performing. _We_ earned it, not him.”

I handed her the pouch.

She shook her head. “You take it.”

“These are yours -”

“No. You come up with all our tricks. You’ve earned it best.”

She continued towards the heart of the marketplace, called Rhundurin square, turning her head with a smile.

At the square, salesmen and -women sold diverse wares from stands: sausages and ham, weapons, books, wicker baskets, bread and trinkets. All around us, people of different races haggled, carried their wares, chatted and - cohabited - in a way seldom seen in other cities.

My mouth watered at the sight of newly baked pierogies and - _oh, baklava_! I bought a few pieces for us to share.

Delys approached a young sorceress in a plush hat to inspect her stock of herbs and tomes. I followed Bertie to a stand of utensils. He picked up an instrument with a pointed brass structure, like a large needle.

“The war cut the supply of wares to Vergen by half at least, for years. The economy is booming again. It’s a good thing to see. I’ll have this, please,” he extracted his coin pouch from underneath his tunic and turned an inquisitive eye to me.

“How did you and your family fare throughout the wars?”

I let the tip of my finger graze a bundle of shiny bolts with harpy feathers.

“The first war was so distant. We never experienced it other than through rumours of a great battle beyond a river in the south. We left the mill two years before the last war. Yanis, our father, fled with us to the woods of southern Kaedwen to avoid being enlisted into Henselt’s army. We joined Arno’s hawker band since no one gave deserters employment.”

“Everyone does their best to survive.” His eyes glinted in a warm smile.

About to ask him of his experiences of the war, the words died in my throat when an ear-shattering, trumpeting sound called from the battlements. Several gasps of surprise erupted from the crowd.

“What’s wrong?” My sister breathed, worry written over her face when a dwarf came running down the street.

“An army is approaching! At least three thousand men! Save yourselves!”

A woman screamed, and several people ran further into the city. Desperate to understand the situation, I darted my eyes to the right and left. An army? Without thinking, I pushed my way through the panicked crowd up the bailey towards the battlements, running the stairs in every other step. My sister called for me, but I ignored her.

Well on the city walls, I froze at the sight of an army approaching. The mass of men was led by cavalry and flanked by foot soldiers. The army marched over the field from the east. Some still disembarked from large, open vessels that took them over the Pontar.

I calculated the distance; they were less than an hour away.

To my surprise, Iorweth and Ciaran ran up the stairs from the bailey to inspect the encroaching army. In the commotion, no one cared if they entered the city.

“It’s Henselt’s army,” Iorweth confirmed, “they march under no banner, but I know the type of armour they wear. Look at the insignia of the nearest officer; the unicorn.” His eye narrowed. “Henselt himself is not among the soldiers. He is probably still in Ard Carraigh to claim this onslaught is the result of guerrilla mercenaries, should they fail. Aedirn would be less likely to retaliate.”

Ciaran spat and exhaled an elven curse.

My whole body grew stiff from Iorweth’s words. King Henselt never accepted the peace treaty of 1267 when Aedirn gained power over Lormark, previous Kaedweni land. What was his plan? To take control over Vergen and the rest of Upper Aedirn? Panic squirming in my guts, I turned towards a loud, scraping sound. Cecil’s men ran inside the city and closed the great Makaham gates.

“What are they doing?” I cried out, “They can’t close the gates! We must let people out!”

Iorweth grabbed my arm in an iron grip.

“You clearly know nothing of warfare. If we let people out, they will be slaughtered like cattle. Vergen has enough provisions to last at least a month, and by that time, Aedirn must act. Cecil Burdon is assembling whatever manpower Vergen’s got to protect the walls.”

A shower of cold sweat left me shivering.

“What’s going to happen?”

His eyes radiated icy determination. “There will be a battle. People are going to die. What will you do, Morgan? Will you fight?”

I failed to take notice of his usage of my name. With a strange sensation of leaving my body, I tried pulled to be free from his grip.

“We can’t stay here!” I pleaded, “We are outnumbered! We can’t -”

“Vergen has at least five hundred men able to wield a sword or a bow. Every Scoia’tael fights like two humans, and every dwarf like three. We have a chance.”

I stopped my thrashing, stupefied.

“You intend to fight - for Vergen?”

“Yes. This city is the symbol of something humans can hardly fathom; equality. I will fight. When this is over, you will bring me the key, and I will never take part in the wars of dh'oine again.”

My fear and panic took overhand. “This is what happens when you think you can achieve chance!” I cried, sobbing, “they murder you and everyone you love!”

“This is not about you,” he hissed. “If you can’t fight, make yourself useful in other ways.”

He eyed me with cold contempt and released my sleeve in a motion that made me stumble. “I should have known you would be too weak to act.”

His callous words tore an aching wound in my heart, despite the fear and panic that muddled my mind. I tried not to weep like a child and turned to run down the stairs. I needed to find my sister.

I found Delys, Shioned and Bertie by Rhundurin square, assembled with a crowd of women, elderly and children. All paled from fear, except for Shioned whose angered expression was cut in stone.

“I can’t fight,” she growled, “not for long. But I’ll do what I can to prevent a slaughter if they breach the gates.”

“Morgan…” my sister whispered under her breath. Her eyes were large like discs and a sheen of sweat glittered on her forehead. Around us, people cried from fear and hopelessness.

I pulled her from the others towards the Cauldron and held her by the arms.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” I said as soon as I was sure the others couldn’t hear me, “we need to find a way out. We’ll search for Yanis and -”

Delys tore from my grasp.

“What? No!”

“Delys, please! I promised I’d take care of you -”

“Stop making decisions for me!”

I blinked at her outburst.

“I’m not leaving. How can you... These people need help! I know you want me to be safe, but what you are suggesting... No. It’s wrong.”

Dumbstruck, I stilled.

“Morgan, please don’t do this,” she pleaded.

The immorality of my ambition trickled into my heart.

I told myself my wish to take her from the city was grounded on care, but it was cowardice. Delys was right to resent me for suggesting that we flee, just like Iorweth resented me.

I couldn’t stand it. I would rather face the Kaedweni army than their contempt. Why did I let the elf affect me in such a way?

Shivering, I stared into her eyes. “Delys, I’m afraid,” I whispered.

She embraced me. “I know. I am too. But we can’t turn away from people who need us.”

I nodded, trying hard to keep my voice from trembling. “You and the others must stay safe. Your place is to treat wounded and hurt soldiers after this is over. Don’t do anything stupid. Ok?”

She grabbed my arms. “What will you do?”

I glanced back at the battlements. Archers gathered to protect the city walls. She nodded with pride in her eyes and embraced me tightly. It lit a flame of determination in my chest.

We returned to the others. Bertie took her hand. Together, they jogged towards Cecil, who shouted orders on how to protect the city. Delys’ skirt flailed around her calves as she ran, her blonde braid bouncing on her back.

Shioned grabbed my shoulder. “Ayd f’haeil moen Hirjeth taenverde, Morgan.”

I didn’t understand her words, but well their sentiment. Marcin and Percival approached me with axes in their hands and nodded to me with stern looks. With a cold ache gnawing in my stomach, I joined them to the battlements and the elves.

I stepped onto the stone walls as if pulled by strings. My legs threatened to give way under me but I refused to let my fear gain the upper hand.

Henselt’s reign was marked by cruelty towards non-humans. This city proudly carried on against the bigotry of the surrounding world. Fighting for Vergen meant fighting for something more than the walls and people within.

Yanis would want me to do anything keep me and Delys alive. Would he forgive me for doing the only thing instilled a fragment of pride in my heart - to not flee with my tail between my legs?

Aware of Iorweth’s gaze, I met his eye.

“You’ve decided to fight your landsmen. Why?” Although tinged with irritation, his voice revealed honest confusion.

Filled with the strange sensation of time slowing, I gazed over the mass of soldiers approaching. They resembled a daunting, metallic wave.

“I’m not them. I don’t want what they want.”

A spark of something - respect? Coloured Iorweth’s scrutinizing glare. I ignored him after my reply and controlled the stack of bolts fastened to my hip. I had twenty shots.

My limbs trembled. Another quarter of an hour and the gates would be attacked.

From the height, we observed the Kaedweni army closing in on the city by the minute. The combined rattle of three thousand armoured feet echoed against the cliff like a menacing thunder. A group of archers, elves, humans and a few dwarves, turned to Iorweth as if on an unspoken cue. He nodded, and all took their places in a line on the battlements.

Ciaran glared at the Kaedweni army with an expression of grave seriousness I had never seen on him before. That alone sent a chill down my spine.

Iorweth turned to the men and women on the battlements.

“They will attack the gates with ballistae. Footmen will attempt to climb the walls; we must stall them as long as possible. Look out for their ladders. They will likely use hooks.”

Iorweth shot a glance at me. “Are you ready?”

I nodded, jaw tight, despite having no idea what the coming hours had in store for us. Dear Melitele, I prayed, if I die at least let Delys live...

Behind us, a deep rumbling fell from the sky like thunder. An enormous shadow grew over the mass of men below. All the archers turned.

On the cliff that surrounded the southern side of the city, gigantic, clawed paws grasped the edge of the stone. A huge scaled head, glistening green from the lowering sunlight, rose above the treeline. A bursting cloud of smoke erupted from her nostrils, large like barrels of ale.

She let out an ear-shattering roar from her maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth. A few of the men beside us fell onto their behinds from terror. All my muscles turned to jelly; I landed on my knees, hands over my ears, trembling but unable to tear my eyes from her.

The green dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayd f’haeil moen Hirjeth taenverde - Conquer with courage rather than strength.


	7. Chapter 7

By the sight of the dragon, the entire Kaedweni army came to a halt. Clangs of armour bumping into shields and drawn swords echoed to the battlements. Soldiers let out exasperated screams of terror.

“Look!” a dwarf with a bow in his hand cried out beside us, “those foot soldiers to the left! They’re deserting!”

I rose to my feet. All cast curious gazes to the western flank of the parts of the army no longer approaching. At least a hundred or so fled in panic towards the woods and into the Pontar, swimming for their lives. The cavalry had trouble calming their panicked horses, and a commander raced after the coward soldiers to assemble them.

“They think the dragon is on our side,” Ciaran uttered in disbelief. We all turned to observe the creature behind us when Iorweth called out a warning.

“Down!”

He grabbed me by the shoulder and pressed me against the walls of the battlements. I craned my neck to witness a black projectile flying towards the dragon.

“The Kaedweni’s are using their ballista against her!” A dwarf cried out.

The iron ball hit the dragon’s neck. She let out a pained, deep yelp. Turning her head to the army below, she snarled and tightened her muscles, her claws ripped into the stone. A puff of smoke left her nostrils. She unfurled her enormous wings from her back and flapped them in an irritated gesture, trumpeting in discontent. The movement caused a few of us on the battlements to roll from the massive force of the wind she stirred. Pressed against the walls, we held our arms against our eyes to protect them from a cloud of dust.

The dragon jumped and soared towards the Kaedweni army with a roar. The cliff burst into falling pieces of granite from the force. We scrambled on our feet. The creature emitted a pillar of flames into the centre of the gathered men, obliterating them into shrivelling statues of black dust. The rest fled in panic from her onslaught.

Another projectile hit the dragon in the side. It only served to fuel the flames of her wrath. She landed among the corpses of fallen soldiers and bit into one of the ballistae, hurling it against the others. The siege weapons collapsed in a cloud of splinters and broken, moaning wood. She turned and emitted another great flame towards the few remaining hundred soldiers trying in vain to kill her.

I put my hand over my mouth to stop the wave of nausea that churned my guts. Mauled and charred bodies spread on the battlefield. Horror held its grasp of my heart at the sight of the terrible force of nature that wreaked havoc before us. What if she turned to us next? Where would we hide?

Ciaran let out another elven curse. The faces of the Vergen soldiers on the battlements expressed awe at the scene before us.

I closed my eyes as the dragon swung her powerful, clawed paw and mutilated a dozen soldiers in one take. Reaching down with her jaw, she gulped over a screaming soldier and swallowed him alive.

A dwarf beside me lifted his fist and cried out in triumph.

“Aye! Give them what they deserve!” He bellowed.

More men hollered in encouragement at the creature. Stiff from fright that the dragon would eat us next, I crouched behind the walls. The men on the battlements rejoiced at the Kaedweni army being effectively annihilated. A few scattered men fled over the river and into the woods, but it was no denying it: Vergen had won the battle without striking a single blow at Henselt’s army and without losing a single life.

The dragon turned her massive head towards the city walls. Through a small hole in the stone, I peeked at her form, heart hammering in my chest. The green of her scales glistened in the rays of the sun. She snorted a last breath of fire. Tilting her head at the happy shouts from the dwarves, the dragon opened her wings and lifted. She hovered above us, flapping her wings with a content rolling sound from her throat.

Hiding behind the walls, I stilled in disbelief.

Was she... purring?

“By the mother’s benevolent bosom,” an archer exclaimed, “the dragon - she likes us! Heh! Hey there, magnificent creature! Thank you!”

The dragon blinked her large, yellow slit eyes.

“She... likes dwarves,” Iorweth whispered in stupefaction.

The dragon puffed a cloud of smoke through her snout and directed her gaze towards the sky. She let out a jovial sound, a guttural “oumph”, and flew with a booming sound from her wings. The blood from the Kaedweni soldiers fell from her claws and landed like small, unnerving droplets of rain on our heads.

A profound silence fell over the battlements before all Vergen’s soldiers and guards let out a simultaneous, triumphant roar. We ran down the stairs to the bailey and the market square. To my great relief, we found Delys, Bertie and Shioned immediately. My sister threw herself in my arms.

Cecil Burdon positioned himself on top of the town well to deliver orders to foot soldiers and calm the confused and panicked crowd. The people gathered around him like chickens to a hen, seeking his authority.

“Search all homes for people hiding thinking they are about to die! By the plague, where is de Alard?” Cecil hollered to over the cries of children and the agitated mumbling of the crowd.

A young human soldier in a chainmail hauberk and an iron helmet stepped forward. “He’s dead, sir.”

Cecil frowned. “What do you mean - dead?”

“A heart attack, sir! He ran out of the castle when the army approached! When he saw the dragon, he grabbed his chest like this -” The soldier placed his hand over his chest in a theatrical movement. “He went ‘aaagh’, and that was it, sir! I tried my best to wake him, but it was for nought!”

Cecil raised his eyebrows and heaved his chest in a sigh.

“I understand. Poor sod. We’ll have to arrange a proper funeral. Humphrey was an idiot, but he wasn’t a bad person. Well, that settles the question of Vergen’s rule until Demavend sends us an envoy. It’ll take at least a week for him to know what happened, considering how shit his spies must be. I will officially act as Vergen’s alderman again.”

He motioned with both hands.

“Tonight, we feast! We have escaped death in the hands of that whoreson Henselt! Ha! Bring out the entire years stock of ale and find every musician in town! We lit a bonfire by the river bed and dance until daylight breaks!”

All around him cheered and raised their hands in the air. The atmosphere changed from worry to relief and mirth. The tears shed were tears of joy, not tears of pain or misery.

*

A few hours later, our gang gathered near the elven district to speak of our next move. To the surprise of all, Ele’yas came sauntering up the path with a smile on his lips. He embraced Iorweth, Shioned and Ciaran.

“My brethren! What is all this commotion? What have I missed?” He grinned, hands on his hips.

We all stared at him, lost for words.

*

On a stretch of grass outside the gates, the dwarves lit a great bonfire. They rolled out kegs of ale and clinking flasks of hooch that scented of blackcurrant and sweet gale. Different instruments such as drums, canisters filled with sand or gravel, violins, and gems horns were fetched by musicians. Soon the air carried the pregnant sounds of the drums, echoing the rhythm of our full hearts.

Several dwarfs sang or exclaimed calls in tune with the music, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. I smiled as they took the first dance steps on their short, sturdy legs. Bertie hollered encouragements. Beside him stood the elves, either crouching or with their arms crossed. They observed the feast while the bonfire billowed shadows over their faces.

Although Ele’yas and Ciaran smiled, the contrast between their cool appearance and the jovial conduct of the dwarves struck me as vivid. I mulled over Bertie’s and Iorweth's words that day we found Marcin and Percival. Did adaptation mean submission? Or was their situation above all a result of their sense of superiority to all other races?

I let go of the thoughts of the elves and rocked my body in tune with the drums, drawn to the rhythm. Three dwarven women sang in a flowing tune to the beating of the drums. They wore embroidered kirtles on their hips and clinking, golden armbands around their wrists. Two of them had beards, although sparser than the male dwarves. The youngest wore an intricate coiffure with her thick braid wrapped around her head.

My sister took my hand and pulled me to the grassed clearing. Laughter bubbled in me. She took a position to my side, her palm against mine and danced the traditional Horah, a Kaedweni folk dance. A few dwarves let out cheers and whistles. Our position interchanged in an increasing, spinning choreography. We clapped our hands in tune with the music, and more people joined us, mostly dwarves but also humans.

Scattered guffaws and elated squeals erupted among the people. The level of drunkenness steadily augmented. When the tune finished, another replaced it, coaxing more couples to dance.

Percival approached me and Delys with two frothing jugs of ale. I took a swig. The cool beverage flowed down my dry throat and settled in my stomach. Delys drank with more caution.

The music died as Cecil Burdon stepped forward, illuminated by the bonfire.

“Fellow Vergeners!” He exclaimed, “today marks the day that will go down in history as the Dragon’s Victory!”

All cheered.

“From this day on, the green dragon is Vergen’s patron animal! Our coat of arms will bare her sign, and our bards will sing her praise! Raise your jugs to the green dragon!”

All raised whatever beverage they held in their hands and saluted the dragon in jovial shouts of praise. The musicians played again, and people danced to their tune.

The high tone caused me to turn my head. To my surprise, Iorweth joined the dwarven orchestra with his recorder. He followed the heavy beat of the drums and the melody of the violins with an improvised tune. In the light of the bonfire, his eyelashes cast shadows on his hewn cheekbones.

Bertie clapped enthusiastically and spun on his small feet in a version of our dance. Delys laughed and grabbed his hands. My heart cramped from seeing my sister happy. Considering the limited time we had known him, my affection for the gnome surprised me.

My smiled died when Delys encouraged Shioned to join them, but a flickering light attracted my attention. A dwarf in a red beard juggled three fiery torches, to everyone’s stupefaction and admiration. I had to tell Yanis about that trick.

The thought of our father dampened my mood, but I was brought back to the present by Bertie calling my name.

“Morgan! Show us a trick!” He pulled a part of the crowd with him in his request, clapping hands and exclaiming encouragements.

The influence of the ale hindered me from considering anything advanced. I didn't wish to end up on my buttocks, making a complete fool of myself. Measuring the stretch of empty grass in front of me, I raised my arms and rounded my body in a chart wheel followed by a single back handspring.

The happy cheers and applause that followed reminded me of why I had worked so hard towards learning these tricks. To entertain was to give people moments of joy in times full of strife or hardship. It meant something.

Delys climbed my shoulders; more cheers erupted.

The feast continued thus throughout the night, with more jugs of ale and hours of dancing. Several dwarves invited me to dance. They held my hips in choreographies I did my best to follow, a few of them lifted me as if I weighed nothing. The effect of the ale and the dance made me lightheaded.

I thanked Skalen Burdon for the last dance and scanned the area for Delys. She was nowhere to be found. In the corner of my eye, I caught the sight of Ciaran snooping off with his arm around a young human.

Other couples started to form, wandering off to celebrate life in other ways than dancing. The music still played, loud conversations and laughter still bustled, but the crowd had thinned. I couldn’t see Shioned anywhere. I tried my best to tamper my worry. Had she and Delys retired together?

It shouldn’t have surprised me that Delys had fallen for a woman. As long as I had known her, she had never shown interest in any man. What did falling for a Scoia’tael mean? How did my sister intend for them to be together? These lands did not treat women who fraternized with war criminals well. Hopefully, no one in Vergen would slander them.

By the bonfire, Ele’yas spun the young female dwarf in a jovial choreography. I squinted. Visible scratch marks ran down beneath the hem of his collar. A shudder ran through me at the thought of the succubus, but he didn’t give the air of suffering.

I roamed the area with my gaze. Where was Iorweth? Had he found someone to wander off with like the rest of his commando, to take pleasure in something besides killing humans?

A confusing flash of intense relief zinged through me as he appeared from behind a crowd of drunken dwarves. With a determined expression, he approached me.

“I advise you not to drink anymore. Tomorrow, you and I leave early to scout the premises of the sawmill. I’ve just spoken to a fisherman who has agreed to take us to the other side of the Pontar.”

I gaped. “What about the others?”

“They are not needed for simple recognition. You march fast; we’ll do it quickest on our own. The others can help us determine what course to take once we establish what’s haunting the mill.”

I swallowed, reluctantly agreeing to his logic. “Can’t the fisherman take us further up the Lixela? Walking will take us at least two days.”

“No, he would only take us to the opposite side of the river. Unless you have a boat lying around somewhere, it’s the best we’ve got. Meet me by the wharf an hour after sunrise. Pack enough provisions.”

I nodded. My heart jolted at the thought of seeing our old mill again. If I wanted to get a few hours of sleep, I’d better take the opportunity and retire. I left for me and Delys’ tent arranged for us by Cecil’s men, opened it with caution but found no one inside.

I swore, lay down on our furs, and fell asleep to the distant sounds of the slowly dying feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When writing this chapter, I was inspired by the song Alfama by Populous, from the album Azulejos (2017). 
> 
> The Horah is a traditional, Jewish folk dance. 
> 
> Any similarity to a certain tv-show is purely accidental :D


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Delys hadn’t returned. I tried not to worry too much and left her and Bertie a brief letter stating my trip to the sawmill with Iorweth.

I packed my satchel and fastened my crossbow on my hip, making sure I had enough bolts. Passing the cliffs, I headed towards the river. The Pontar stretched like a dark band, wide and grim with white horses on the waves, to the Kaedweni side.

A breeze tugged at the strands of my hair and forced a few tears into my eyes. Although I had downed several mouthfuls of water, my mouth was dry like a ball of cotton. A slight queasiness tightened my guts.

I shouldn’t have had that fourth ale last night.

Iorweth stepped the wood of the small wharf, his bow on his back and his quiver full of arrows. He spoke to the dwarven fisherman beside a large skiff, twenty feet long, with a single mast and sail.

“There she is,” the fisherman announced as I approached, “got your sea legs?” He chuckled and motioned me to sit.

Iorweth acknowledged me with a curt nod. I nodded back, tight-lipped, and climbed into the boat, my packing first. Iorweth followed suit, and the fisherman took the rudder. He shouted to drown out the flapping sound of the sail,

“Good winds today! Let’s get going!”

It took us half an hour to cross the Pontar, but it was enough for me to swear by Melitele to never drink again. I tried to breathe calmly in and out of my mouth, but the side glances from Iorweth and the mocking laugh of the fisherman told me I was as green in the face like a frog.

Great.

We reached the other side of the Pontar and took farewell of the fisherman. I sat down on the grassy sand with my head between my legs in an attempt not to lose my breakfast. The strands of my hair hung like a brown veil before my face.

Iorweth hovered a bit further up the riverside.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as pale as you are right now, dyfirg.”

“I just need a minute.”

He snorted. “And here I thought you were a child of the river.”

I wanted to tell him to get knotted but my nausea prevented me to reply with anything but a moan. I lifted my head and wiped my hair back. To my surprise, he approached and handed me a flask of water.

“Don’t take too long. I want us to get back to Vergen as soon as possible.”

*

An hour later, we stepped the soil of the Kaedweni landscape, following the river upstream. My knees wobbled, but the hangover I suffered diminished with each minute. I inhaled a few deep breaths of the cool air and shifted my shoulders to reposition my satchel. The purring of a pigeon above our heads contested the flushing currents of the river.

Unable to think of anything but the state of the mill, I twirled a strand of my hair and put it between my teeth. What would it look like after all these years?

Probably not like the royal gardens of Vizima.

Iorweth shot me a glance.

“Are you aware you constantly have your hair in your mouth? If you’re hungry, we have lembas.”

“It’s not a hunger thing. It’s just something I do.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m not the only one with habits." One of Ele’yas’ mannerisms came to my mind. “Ele’yas cracks the joints in his hands. And Delys is always crooning some song – at least when she’s happy.”

He cast me a glance that appeared neutral but revealed a tinge of unwilling interest.

“You and your sister are not very alike.”

I smiled at the comment. I had heard it many times before.

“We don’t have the same father.”

His eye conveyed a question.

“My birth father died in an accident when I was very little. Our village burned. Mother and I moved into Flotsam. She met Yanis and they had Delys.”

Did I imagine his shoulders stiffening?

“What was the name of your village?”

“Lobinden,” I replied in surprise, “do you know of it?”

“Yes,” he answered after a short pause, “there’s an elven ruin not far from it...”

“The garden! I heard it’s beautiful…” I silenced at his look full of anger and - something else I couldn’t pinpoint. It must have irked him to listen to a human’s attempt at grasping the beauty of elven constructions, reminding him of the world they lost.

We marched in a stiff, awkward silence until I caught Iorweth glancing at my crossbow. I instinctively placed my hand on it.

He nodded at the weapon. “Who taught you to shoot the bow?”

“Yanis. Since I always ran away to the forest and into the river, he figured he needed to teach me how to take care of myself.”

“Wise decision.”

I halted from the appraise - Iorweth never said anything positive about a human. His stony expression didn’t falter.

“You trample through the forest like a young moose, though.”

I huffed from his insult. “I do not!”

“Still impressive for a dh’ione. Most of you march through the woods with the grace of a fiend on fisstech.”

I stopped, teeth clenching, and placed my hands on my hips. _Ploughing elf..._

The rapid flapping of a bird interrupted our bickering.

Instinctively, I unfastened the crossbow from my hip and aimed. Releasing the bolt, I jubilantly observed the small bird tumble from the sky. Another fell beside it. I turned to see Iorweth sinking his bow.

I cast him a wide smile before I ran to where the fowls had fallen. My mouth watered at the thought of roasted rouse, my favourite quail. Judging by the satisfied expression on Iorweth’s face, he didn’t mind feasting on the small, fat birds either.

The sight of his smile, despite being tight-lipped and merely a twitch to the corners of his mouth, caused a small jolt in my chest. No matter how unintentional this had been, nothing satisfied me like a successful hunt. I readily shared that satisfaction, even with a frustrating elf.

I bound the legs of the quail to fasten them to my packing when a ferocious howl reached our ears. Iorweth reacted on an instant and re-equipped his bow. The desperate snarls, wails and hisses came no further than half a mile to our east.

I grew hot with anger. How many times had I heard those sounds before?

“Come on,” I said to Iorweth and marched towards the noises.

“It’s an injured creature - a wolf, by the sound. Why would you go to it? Do you have a death wish?”

“It won’t hurt us, because it can’t. I’ve seen this before. Stay, if you wish.”

He followed me.

Underneath the large roots of a fallen fir, spread like a cobweb, a grey wolf trashed with its left hind paw stuck in a snare trap. It was a young male, scrawny and trembling. The animal snarled at us, fangs bared.

I asked Iorweth to light one of his torches and went to seek a long and hard branch. I found a sturdy stick, approached the wolf carefully, and wedged at the teeth of the trap.

After a few minutes of ministration, the trap sprung open. The desperate animal attacked but recoiled at the lit torch Iorweth swung in front of it. With a whimper of pain and fear, the wolf fled into the thicket.

I destroyed the mechanic of the trap with the heel of my boot and wiped the sweat from my forehead.

Iorweth put out the torch by rolling it on a wet patch on the ground.

“Don’t you ever hunt with traps, dyfirg?”

“No.” I pulled the trap from the shade of the exposed roots to make it visible for everyone who walked past. “Only if you count the stone traps I use to catch fish. Not these. They are cruel.”

“Do you care so much for beasts?”

I frowned, irritated of his mocking tone.

“No one deserves to suffer, alone and afraid - animal, human, or non-human. If we hunt, we kill, swiftly. We shouldn’t torture.”

“That wolf will die from its wounds. What service did you do it to let it go?”

“You don’t know that,” I snarled like the wolf, “at least now it has a chance. And I got to piss off the hunter who laid the trap.”

Defiant, I continued our march through the pines and birches in the direction of the mill. At the absent sound of his steps, I turned.

“You’re falling behind, commander.”

 _Bloede dh’oine_ , he whispered and shook his head before he followed me.

*

That night, we feasted on the rouses, grilled over the open fire and seasoned with salt, thyme and their own fat.

Iorweth regarded me through the flames of the fire as I took a bite from the wing.

“When the Kaedweni attacked - before the dragon appeared - you said something. About those wanting a different world getting killed.”

The shame over my panic attack on the city walls filled my guts like a hot beverage. I found no fitting reply, so I remained silent.

“The incident by the mill - do you believe your mother was murdered?”

“Yes. She received threatening notes - she could never hide them from me - about her being a ‘dwarf lover’ and an ‘elf fucker’, such things. She laughed at them.” I darted him a pleading glance. “Delys doesn’t know, please don’t tell her.”

He held my gaze in a manner that told me he wouldn’t.

“When mother inherited the mill from her father, she employed dwarves, but also some elves. But it wasn’t out of some noble sentiment - she didn’t have much choice. Most human men refused to take employment from a woman, and non-humans couldn’t afford to be so choosy.”

“Elves who live with humans are hardly elves anymore. They are subordinated, lost. They’re almost worse than dh’oine.”

My jaw fell open from the contempt in Iorweth’s words. The elitist, pompous...

“No wonder the elves in the city hate the Scoia’tael,” I hissed. “Not only do you run roughshod over them with your attacks, but you actually believe that you are somehow superior!”

I sent him an icy glare. Iorweth ignored me and stuffed the pipe with his herbal blend. Soon, the spicy smell of his smoking filled the air.

I lay on my fur without a word of goodnight, chest tight from resentment.

*

Green, mild waters flowed across my joints, leaving me in a state of unusual relaxation. The murky flush of the river added to my bliss. I breached the surface to take a deep breath and let the cool air cleanse my lungs. The currents of the waters swirled up my legs and teased my skin to erupt in goosebumps.

As if by transported by magic, my feet touched the forest floor, my back pressed against the trunk of an oak. A brush of leather against my skin made me open my eyes, staring into the partially covered face of Iorweth. He pinned me to the oak, caressing my arm with a gloved hand, slowly wandering up to cradle my jaw. A powerful rush of heat lanced through me at the realisation what was happening. I held my breath as he leaned in -

I woke up with a gasp and sat up from the fur, heart pounding behind my ribs. Melitele’s tits, why did my brain feed me such scenes? Iorweth was the last person I wanted to do - that - with.

“Bad dream?”

The embers of the bonfire illuminated Iorweth’s shape in orange. Behind him, the stars tinged the dark blue sky with milky spots. I swallowed and nodded, unable to form words. A light sweat tingled on my temples.

He used a stick to poke the glow of the fire and added another log.

“I know about those.”

Silently, I observed him, a slow anger building in me alongside the shame from the vision of my dream. His words weren’t an invitation to a conversation, but I hadn’t forgotten how I had exposed myself to him, speaking of my mother. It was his turn to display honesty.

“Is the key a weapon?”

He regarded me through the flames of the fire. “What is a weapon?” He answered. “To most, a pitchfork is used to dig, but in the right hands, it can kill. A woman’s hairpin can poke an eye out.”

He lifted his head with a burning gaze. “I meant what I said back on the battlements. I don’t wish to take part in any more wars if I don’t have to.”

The weight in my chest diminished, but my anger remained. I wasn’t finished with him.

“How did you get your scar?”

If the question surprised him, he didn’t show it besides a slight narrowing of the eye.

“I took a spear to the face.”

I had thousands of other questions. Where? When? How did you survive? All words got stuck in my throat from the thought of the incomprehensible agony he must have experienced.

His lips tensed. “Don’t waste your pity on me, Morgan. I don’t want it.”

My mind registered that he used my first name, but the heated anger in my chest welled over.

“I don’t pity you. You’ve fought and - willingly sought wars your entire life. It’s only natural you’d be scarred in the process.”

“I guess you’ll never know what it’s like to fight for something bigger than yourself,” he retorted.

“And I guess you’re too arrogant to understand not all scars are visible to the eye.”

That shut him up. I clamped my own mouth close not to reveal the tremble in my voice; I didn’t want him to know his words hit an aching spot in me.

“Do you think all humans agree with the injustices towards non-humans?” I spat. “That only elves hate how we live? The hierarchies, the poverty, the violence and wars? The system of a few in power, while everyone else is expendable?”

He gave me a silent, disinterested gaze of someone who has seen too much death to care about the ramblings of a human.

I clenched my jaw and turned my eyes to the horizon. _One less dh’oine_. Why did I repeat the mistake of expecting compassion from him - a Scoia’tael?

A sheen of pink above the treeline told of the soon breaking dawn. I jumped out of my fur.

“You let me sleep all night?”

“You were tired.”

“So are you!”

To my surprise, he didn’t argue with me but placed the stick in the fire, shoulder sloping from weariness.

“An hour, no more.”

I nodded and let him take the furs. He placed them on the ground by a tree, where he fell asleep resting with his back against the trunk.

*

Three hours later, I carefully approached to awaken him but stopped at the sight of his sleeping frame. His arms lifted to support his head, his body lay vulnerable and open.

I explored his delicate features, unable to tear my eyes from him.

He looked so peaceful. During our travels over the Mahakam, Iorweth sometimes gazed over the snowy ridges of the mountain in a wistful expression, giving the impression of a man who carried the fate of his race on his shoulders.

Perhaps he understood himself as such. It contrasted to the cruel, callous side of his character and I didn’t understand how to make sense of him.

The wind sent shifting shadows over his face from the rustling of branches, the knock of a woodpecker echoed over our heads. His eyelashes were ridiculously pretty...

Iorweth opened his eye and regarded me with an expression I couldn’t decipher.

“It - it’s morning.”

Flushing, I turned to prepare us a mug of hot tea and a breakfast of bread and the leftovers of the grouses.

*

We spent a day marching through the landscape, sleeping under the stars and waking before sunrise. An hour or two by foot from the mill, my stomach tightened in anticipation and fear. I steeled my heart to protect myself from the inevitable disappointment at the sight of the mill.

The closer we got, the more the surroundings grew recognizable. There was the twisted birch I used to climb. Or the ridge where the chanterelles always sprouted during Velen. Or the clearing where I and Delys picked wild strawberries.

A heavy stone of melancholia hit me in the guts. _Hiraeth._ Unwillingly, I slowed the pace, holding an arm around my waist. A cold sweat prickled my temples.

Iorweth cast me an unreadable gaze from the crook of his eye. He stopped and faced me, arms crossed.

“You are afraid of what we might find.”

I nodded, swallowing. Please, dear Melitele, I prayed silently, please don’t let me find mother as a wraith or some other ethereal monster...

Iorweth shifted weight on his foot. “I’ll go in advance and scout the area. I’ll be back in an hour. Stay here.”

I stared at him in surprise. The offer was kind - if I believed he could be kind.

“Yes,” I managed to croak, “thank you.”

He hesitated, as if he wished to say something else, but turned on his heel and marched towards the direction of the mill.

To still my nerves and strengthen my resolve, I made sure to eat and drink during Iorweth’s absence. A chill wind shook the branches of the budding trees. I pulled my hood over my head, thankful for the warmth of my parkas.

I placed branches in a pyramid to start a fire when Iorweth returned, surprising me with his silent way of traversing the forest, as always.

“The mill is largely destroyed. But I spotted no wraiths or ghouls. If there is a curse, it is unrecognizable to me.”

I nodded, relieved, and got on my feet to join him. We followed a small creek where I and Delys played with bark boats as children and reached the clearing opening to the Lixela.

I let out a deep sigh at the sight of the mill.

The planks and wooden beams of the worker's lodges lay on the ground as if mauled by a giant hand. Scattered on the overgrown grass, hand saws and an axe lay flung to the ground, winding wines covered the skeleton of the former cottages. Mother’s office and the mill itself, placed by the river bank, still stood erect, merely in poor shape. Parts of the roofs had fallen in and moss grew on the planks of the walls.

I neared the large edifice with a lump in my throat.

“Stay here,” I whispered, “I want to go in alone.”

The doors opened with a creak; one them slanted as it hung from one hitch. The familiar smell of sawdust invaded my senses, mixed with a distinct smell of mould and animal excrement, although none I recognized.

The heart of the mill opened up to the river in a large, open room from where the shipment of timber used to arrive. The sun reflected in the two large saw blades sticking up from the floor. Mother always warned me and Delys from playing by the serrated metal discs. One of our dwarven workers, Marius, once lost two fingers on those blades. After a few weeks of convalescence, he continued working the mill, smilingly wiggling his three remaining fingers. I and Delys stared at his hand in awe.

Sorrow welled in my chest. I didn’t understand why. The mill was in a bad state, but largely intact. I didn’t know much about construction, but Yanis did; he could get it back in its original shape.

I hastily wiped my face as the steps of Iorweth came closer. Angered shame flared in my chest. Of all people, he was the last I wished to witness my tears.

“I told you to stay outside,” I hissed and turned my face from him.

“You shouldn’t be inside the mill alone. It might not be safe.” He roamed his gaze around the room as if looking for whatever he might consider unsafe.

“I can take care of myself.” I cringed internally at my attempt to assert my independence through the petulant words of a child.

“Perhaps.” Iorweth stepped closer. “But I still need you to find me the key.” He uttered the words more like a plea than an order. His gaze held mine in an expression void of any coldness or cynicism. It sent a warm wave inside me.

Bertie's words came to me. _Perhaps this common quest of yours will restore some faith in the world._

I turned and pointed towards the glittering waters of the Lixela. “The key - it’s in the -”

An enormous tentacle, sickly pink and dripping with moist, rose from the river. All the veins in my body froze, arm hanging in the air. The tentacle heaved in a slamming motion towards the floor of the mill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kayran time! or at least, a big scary monster inspired by the Kayran. 
> 
> "A woman’s hairpin can poke an eye out" is similar to a quote made by Orianna, a higher vampire in the Blood and Wine DLC. 
> 
> A lovely commenter on the last chapter gave these two idiots a ship name: Morweth! I have been staring at that comment for a week, grinning like a fool. <3


	9. Chapter 9

Reacting to the danger visible through the terror in my eyes, Iorweth jumped in time to avoid the crashing tentacle. The meaty arm fell on the floor and splintered the wood in a thunderous clap. Pushing us away from the reach of the onslaught, my legs failed to carry me. Iorweth pulled me further into the building, hands grasping my parkas. Another clap fell us to the floor.

Our bodies slid along the planks. We instinctively turned our faces from the pieces of broken wood that flew around us. Scrambling onto my knees, I opened my eyes to see a hideous, fleshy monster lift its tentacle to strike at us again. I screamed. 

Iorweth pulled at me with a strangled grunt. We stumbled to the inner walls of the mill. I fell and dragged him with me, landing on top of him, the air pushed from my lungs. In a last attempt to escape the trashing tentacle, Iorweth grabbed my shoulders and rolled. We ended up cramped against the wall, my back against the floor and his body shielding mine.

The creature roared, a guttural, wet cry that hurt my ears. Panicked, I lifted my arms and turned my head, clamping my eyes shut as the wooden beams of the roof came tumbling over us in a rain of splinters. Miraculously, the debris didn't crush us but grazed the undersides of my arms, crossed over Iorweth’s neck. My ears rang from the sound of broken wood as more beams tumbled beside us.

In the raucous commotion caused by the monster, we fled and ran. We didn’t stop until the disappointed howls of the creature no longer reached our ears.

Falling onto the cold forest floor, we cramped against a tree trunk. My heart threatened to pound its way out of my body and my skin crawled with fear. It was the biggest thing I had ever seen. 

By Melitele’s tits. First a dragon and now a giant water monster? I did not need this amount of excitement in my life.

As everything stilled, the air calm around us, I ceased my panting and lifted my head from its position on Iorweth’s shoulder.

“Are you ok?”

He nodded and fastened his eye on my forehead with a frown.

“You’re bleeding.”

Bereft, I lamented the loss of his warmth as he got up on his feet and reached for my hand.

*

Guiding me to a stone to sit, Iorweth handed me a cloth to clean the small gash on my forehead.

“I’ve never seen such a monster before.” He frowned, shaking his head. “Never. Something’s not right.”

“It killed my mother,” I whispered, “and the others. It must have been it - that monster.” The realization dug an aching hole in my chest. All my suspicions of murder… wrong. 

For years after we left the sawmill, I was consumed with thoughts of revenge. Nothing made sense anymore. 

“It is likely. It didn’t seem to like visitors.”

I let my hand fall and studied the patch of blood on the cloth.

“I need to get back to Delys and tell her what’s happened.”

He nodded. A warm beam of the sun fell through the branches and illuminated his semi-covered face.

“What do you want with that place?”

I knitted my eyebrows; the rasp on my forehead stung.

“To run it. It’s our future - me and Delys’.”

He frowned in turn.

“This is how you hope to live - running a sawmill?”

Irritation rose like pressure in me. “Yes! What’s wrong with it? What do you do that is so much nobler it gives you the right to spit on my family’s trade?”

All the warm concert between us from before dissipated like mist in sunshine. He crossed his arms, stiff.

“I fight for my people. For their future”

“For elves who share your vision of that future. Everyone else you could care less about.” My voice rasped, my body tensed like a bowstring.

He pointed his index finger at me, eye burning.

“What would a dh’oine know of the strife of elves? Of my ambitions? You see us as labour power to be exploited, or a curious remnant of times lost.”

I wanted to scream that I didn’t find him to be any of those, but an impossible, frustrating idiot. Fatigue permeated me to my core.

“Let’s just go.”

I brushed past him, heading south towards the Pontar. He released his arms from their tensed position on his chest, cursed, and followed suit.

*

We continued our journey towards the city and stepped the river landscape in silence. I plunged into melancholy after the commotion by the mill.

Iorweth sent occasional glances at me but kept silent. Not that he normally was the talkative type, if you didn’t count that strange moment of companionship between us that day before we feasted on the grouses. I must have imagined it.

The fisherman had promised to keep an eye out for us to take us back to Vergen and picked us up by the Pontar. Well back in Vergen, we were met with the news that a royal envoy arrived that very morning. Cecil Burdon attended a conclave with the representatives of King Demavend inside the Castle of Three Fathers.

Iorweth wasted little time and gathered his Scoia’tael in an apartment in the elven area. I and Delys met in another apartment. A few strands of red hair on a pillow and a leaf-green shirt over a chair told me it had served as a love nest while I was gone.

My sister fussed over the scratch on my forehead, but I asked her to ignore it for the moment and told her of the monster.

“I’ve dreamt of it,” Delys sunk onto the bed, white in the face and clutching the fabric of her dress, “the monster. I’ve seen it in a dream, lifting its arm and smashing the mill and mother…”

I took her hand. I also had nightmares about our mother’s death, but Delys had a strange gift of seeing things she shouldn’t, by logic, have knowledge of.

Bertie entered with a careful knock; we both lifted our gazes.

“I thought you might want to know the outcome of the conclave. Cecil Burdon is holding a speech outside the Cauldron in a minute.”

We followed him through the carved passages and stairs that led to the centre of town and arrived as Cecil began his announcement from a high chair. He wore a new, embroidered silk doublet and a few rings on his thick fingers. People gathered around him and hushed crying children and barking dogs.

“Vergeners!” he hollered, “in honour of your bravery against that whoreson Henselt and his shit for an army, King Demavend acknowledges my rule as alderman! Together with my council, I will continue as your leader and benefactor! All hail Demavend!”

The crowd cheered.

“All hail Vergen, the city under the protection of the Green Dragon!”

More cheers.

“Cecil is well rewarded,” Bertie whispered. I bent down to hear him better. “Demavend knows he can’t put another human puppet in the rule of this town. The council will be full of human nobles loyal to the king, but this is an acknowledgement of the dwarven rule.”

I nodded, hardly grasping the political game that unfolded before us. A spark of worry flared in my chest at the thought of how tensed the relation between Aedirn and Kaedwen must be.

The happy crowd scattered. We approached the Alderman who jumped down his chair to approach the elves.

“... can’t harbour war criminals in Vergen,” we heard him say, “I told them to plough themselves. You were prepared to fight the Kaedweni army despite our grim chances! The council refuses Scoia'tael inside the city walls, but The Goddess may strike me with lightning if I don't honour your loyalty!”

Iorweth’s answer shocked us all.

“If we renounce our ways, would that help, Cecil? To no longer call us Scoia’tael.”

All stared at him, wide-eyed, not the least his own brethren.

“Eh?” Cecil scratched his temple. “Aye, I guess so, but…”

“What we fought for as Scoia’tael no longer matters. All has changed. We have only one task to perform, and after we succeed, the fate of elves in this world will be transformed.” He turned to address us.

“I want you all gathered in Ciaran’s and Ele’yas quarters in the elven area tonight. We need to make up a plan.”

He cocked his head and left with his former Scoia’tael in tow, all casting confused glances at each other. My sister made a hesitant motion to Shioned, who assured her they would meet later that night, and left.

*

Shadows of our forms billowed against the walls of the apartment. Tallow candles burned on a table, the sweet smell of red wine filled the air. All were there, including Bertie, Percival and Marcin.

A frown of distress spread on the dwarves foreheads at Iorweth’s retelling of our encounter with the river monster. Bertie squeaked in terror, and Marcin twisted his beard into knots.

“I’ve never heard of such a monster. Why aren’t there more witnesses of such a creature? It should be legendary in the Pontar Valley. Not that I’m familiar with these lands… but still.”

I frowned. What was the dwarf aiming at with his words?

“We’re not - lying, Marcin.”

“Oh, I don’t think you are! But how are we supposed to take down such a thing... with so little knowledge?”

Iorweth made a motion with his arm from his position on the edge of the table. “Our mission is simple. We kill the river monster.” He nodded to his elven brethren. “We take the key.” He gave me a neutral gaze. “We part ways.”

It was all I wanted; his words should not have pinched my heart the way they did. 

“You’re all mad,” Marcin replied, “if that monster is as big as you say, all you will do is meet the goddess in her halls in the afterlife. Is anyone in this room a witcher?” His gaze wandered around, “No? then I suggest -”

Iorweth stood, eye narrowed and palms pressed against the table. “Finding Aelirenn’s key has been the primary goal of my life since I was a child. That monster is all that stands between me and the key. I’ll do what it takes to kill it.”

“You’re lying,” Marcin retorted in a harsh tone that surprised everyone, “killing humans have been your sole goal in life. After the war, you found yourself used by Emhyr var Emreis, fooled like an idiot, and abandoned by your own. You wish to find that key so you don’t have to feel like your entire life - your entire race - has been thrown on the dung pile! Admit it, elf.”

All stood in exasperation. Iorweth gaze blackened, but before he could reply, or do anything else rash, I spoke, blushing with consternation from the dwarf’s cruel words.

“The non-humans who fought against the Northern Kingdoms in the war had their reasons. The rulers of Kaedwen and Aedirn made any peace between the races impossible, not nonhumans. No one should be promised a future and have it ripped from their hands as soon as the dust settles.”

Bertie patted my hand in a proud gesture.

Marcin loured with his hands in his pockets. “I can’t help you beat a river monster. I’m sorry. I know I’m indebted to you, but I don’t wish to lose the life I gained that day you found us on the cliff.” He didn’t meet our eyes.

“I’ll help you,” Percival said, “I don’t have much experience fighting monsters. But I’ll help you any way I can.”

Marcin frowned at his words, but Bertie and Delys beamed at him.

“I’ll also help you.”

All turned their gazes to the door where the young sorceress from the market place made her entrance. Iorweth regarded her with suspicion. She joined us and adjusted the red, plush hat with inlaid golden buttons on her head.

I had to remind myself it was rude to stare at the décolletage of a woman’s dress. Why did sorceresses tend to wear clothes that exposed so much skin? Perhaps they used magic not to be cold... and to hold their bosoms in place without a breast band.

“I’m sorry to interfere,” she said, “but I overheard some whispers in the market…” She glanced at Delys and Bertie, who blushed. “I admit I used a bit of magic to spy on your gathering tonight. But I assure you, I only wish to help."

The sorceress opened her hands in a friendly gesture. “My name is Felicia Cori. I’m a student at the magical academy Aretuza in Temeria. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but an aggressive, anti-magic sentiment is spreading in the west, fuelled by the young monarch of Redania…”

“Radovid.” Percival muttered.

“Yes,” the sorceress continued. “Look. Your problem might have to do with magic. No one has heard of a monster roaming the Lixela river before? Maybe because someone put it under a spell, to make it huge and deadly. I - I can dispel it. It's the only way to kill it.”

Her blush told me she exaggerated the need for magic, or was unsure of her promise. 

“Why would you help us, _daerienn_?” Iorweth growled.

“Because, _Aen Seidhe_ ,” she replied, “when the witch hunters come to Vergen, and we all know they will, you’ll help me in return. Or does the famous equality of this city not pertain to magic wielders?”

All remained silent until Delys raised her voice.

“We accept all the help we can get. Please stay, Felicia.” She turned a neutral gaze to Marcin. “If you don’t mind, you may leave us, as you have expressed no wish to partake in our plans.”

Marcin slouched as he exited the room, leaving us to outline the first draft of a plan to take out the river monster.

“Do you know if it is venomous?” Felicia asked me and Iorweth, who both shook our head as we had no answer.

“Let us not take any risks. There is a recipe for an anti-toxin that works for all kinds of animal venom. It contains the seeds and stems from a flower…”

“The Coram Astera!” Delys exclaimed.

“Yes,” Felicia confirmed. “The flower that blooms in the snow of the Blue Mountains. If you can leave soon, you might still find one - winter still remains for a few weeks in the mountains.”

Bertie clapped his hands in excitement. “Oh, dear friends! We must travel to my birthplace, not far from Ban Ard! The gnomish commune is but a few days travel to the spot where this flower grows! Oh yes, I know it very well. At home, we call it the Northern Snow Star.”

“I will stay in Vergen,” Felicia said, “to prepare. I must study ever known form of animal transformation that has existed...”

Iorweth took command. “We’ll leave immediately. I don't wish to wait in this city for another year to find that flower.” He turned to me.” You, Berthold, and I leave. Delys, can you learn the recipe and make the antidote?” She nodded. “Then you will join us too. We buy a horse or a mule to make the travel faster and leave tomorrow. I know of a hunter’s cabin in the mountains where we can rest.”

I nodded. Ciaran and Ele’yas shrugged, expressing content words of not wishing to ‘freeze their buttocks off in the cold of the Blue Mountains’.

Delys turned to Shioned, smiling. “Will you come too?”

Shioned, who had been unusually silent the whole evening, paled. She swallowed.

“No. Delys - perhaps you and I should go and talk in private.”

Delys smile died. My heart stopped for a beat at the morose tone in the elf’s voice.

“Shioned?” Delys whispered. The elf rose and motioned to my sister to go outside. Delys’ hands trembled as she joined her lover. An awkward mood reigned the room after their departure.

Unable to concentrate on the conversation, I cast continuous glances towards the door. My mind faintly registered Percival's suggestion that we hire a witcher, and the dismissal of Iorweth as he claimed he didn’t trust “vatt’gherns”.

I jumped when he called my name in irritation.

“Morgan, concentrate. This monster - the sorceress suggests it might be a mollusc.”

I shook my head. I had never heard of such a creature.

“An octopus, perhaps,” Felicia clarified, “it’s a non-vertebrate animal that lives in the ocean south of the Yaruga river.”

“What do they eat?” 

She frowned in concentration at Iorweth’s question. “Shellfish, I think. Crabs, shrimp. Such things.”

Iorweth turned to me. “That thing you did to distract the drowners. What if we did something like it to this monster? Because,” he added, ”the key is in the river, isn’t it?”

I nodded, exhaling a soft snort. My mother placed the key where only I would be crazy enough to search for it. _Child of the river_.

“I am _not_ collecting tons of shit to distract a giant slime monster!” Ele’yas exclaimed, holding his hands out in a disgusted gesture.

Iorweth cast him a pointed gaze. “I was thinking the reverse; if we collect things it likes, we can distract it enough -”

“Enough to take the key,” I breathed, excited by his plan when a thought crushed my hope.

“But it’s not enough. It still wouldn’t get me and Delys the sawmill.”

Iorweth nodded. “We need to kill it.”

“It might give us enough time for me to lift the magic spell that binds it - if there is such a spell, that is,” Felicia said.

My hope returned. We needed to flesh out this plan, but it was a start. I frowned at the sound of a door opening and closing outside, coming from Delys’ and Shioned’s quarters.

I couldn’t stand it anymore but rose to leave and find my sister. Iorweth shot me an irritated eye cast. I ignored it.

*

I found Delys alone, laying on their bed, crying. Carefully, I approached her.

“Delys?”

She whimpered and lifted her face, red and swollen from tears. “Morgan - Shioned left. She says she can’t be with me, and - and that -”

She placed her face into the pillow and cried harder. I sat down beside her and stroked her back.

“I’m so sorry, but - maybe this is for the be-”

“No!” I flinched from my sister’s outburst. “Don’t say it! Don’t say it’s for the best! Because it’s not. It’s wrong - nothing could be more wrong. I love her. With all my heart.”

My heart cramped from the pain in her voice.

“Delys, Shioned is - she used to be a Scoia'tael. A war criminal. You know what they do to women who, who sleeps with the enemy! I’m worried. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“We already are in trouble, Morgan. Both of us.” I blushed at her words and what they implied, but she continued; “We are hawkers, as much war criminals as the Scoia’tael. To fall in love with any of them only adds insult to injury, I guess - frankly, I don’t care. I just want to be with her!”

She fell back on the bed, hulking from sobs.

“This is Iorweth’s doing, I know it! He told her to leave!”

“Did Shioned tell you that?”

“No,” Delys admitted, “but I know it was him. Oh, how I hate him!”

For the rest of the night, I found nothing useful to say to my sister. I patted her back, brewed her tea, and sat with her as she fell asleep at last, exhausted and puffy-eyed, on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elder Speech:
> 
> Daerienn - sorceress  
> Vatt’ghern - witcher


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, the people designated to leave for the Blue Mountains met by the shore. A light rain dotted the Pontar in small circles and the waters lapped against the wooden beams of the wharf, pushing the skiff in a rocking motion. 

Our travels didn’t start as planned. Red-eyed and pale from anger, Delys declared that she refused to travel with Iorweth. She crossed her arms and stayed put next to the boat that would take us a few miles up the Lixela.

Iorweth pulsed his jaw, but besides that, he did his best to conceal his irritation.

“I’m not spending a minute in his company.” Delys sent a cold glare to the elf. “Bertie and I can travel on our own to his family’s commune and meet you there after you’ve found the flower.”

I shook my head in desperation, and irritation, at her stubbornness. A cool gush of wind furthered my wish to leave, soon.

“I can’t let you travel to the Blue Mountains alone. It’s too dangerous.”

A familiar voice appeared behind us. “I can go with them to Ban Ard,” Percival announced. “I reckon I can’t come with you any further or Marcin will have my hide… But -”

“Percival, you absolute darling!” Bertie smiled his most endearing smile and hugged the dwarf, who blushed all the way up to his shaved head. “It’s a splendid solution. From Ban Ard, we won’t have a problem reaching the commune on our own.”

I turned to my sister.

“Delys, the sooner we get the flower, the sooner we can have mother’s sawmill back…”

“I know. Go. We’ll meet you later at the gnomish commune.”

We shared a brief embrace. Delys didn’t so much as cast a glance at Iorweth. Bertie patted Iorweth hand and handed him a small package. The elf accepted with a perplexed frown, opening the package to reveal a pair of new leather gloves. Bertie turned to me and searched his satchel. He retrieved another package which contained a pair of exquisite leather pants.

“My way of saying thank you. No, don’t refuse, it’s my profession after all, and the only means by which I can show you my gratitude for saving my life. Also, your current gloves and your trews are in a... let’s say dire condition -” Iorweth pursed his lips, I glanced down on my patched and torn pants, “so I concluded you needed new pairs. Go! And take care! See you soon!”

Moved, I thanked him. Iorweth grunted a brief word of gratitude. We boarded the trading ship that would serve as our first travel point on our way to the mountains.

The ship took us to Ban Gleán, from where we continued on foot until we reached Ban Ard. I entered the city alone and made sure to restock well before I re-joined Iorweth. I bought a cap to warm my ears and a new woollen cape. Near the Blue mountains, the temperature plummeted below zero degrees at nights and the snow still loomed on top of its ridges.

Bertie’s pants warmed in the most peculiar way, considering the thin and light model. I loved how they fit me like a second skin and allowed me to move freely. Iorweth sometimes regarded his new gloves with a stupefied expression. Bertie was more than a tailor, he was an artist.

The common presence of gnomes on the roads we traversed told us we weren’t far from the commune in the mountains. The day after my visit to Ban Ard, Iorweth pointed towards an opening in the cliffs. A well-traversed road snaked its way inside, trampled by small feet. A few pillars of smoke behind revealed a village or a farmstead.

“That’s the way to Berthold’s birth commune. We’ll meet him and your sister there when we have found the flower.”

The mention Delys caused a pinch to my heart. I had spent most of the weeks travel from Ban Gleán to Ban Ard thinking about her and Shioned. Had I underestimated her feelings for the elf? Was it for the best that they parted? An acrid sensation of guilty conscience ran like a black drop in my guts. 

“You are thinking about your sister.”

I blinked at Iorweth’s words. I should have been used to his way of commenting rather than asking by that time.

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t make a difference between humans and elves.”

A mix of surprise and affection ran through my heart. I had expected him to scold her, not speak of her qualities.

“No, she doesn’t. She grew up believing all races are equal.” I twirled a strand of my hair around my finger. “Mother didn’t prepare her for reality. I think she did her a disservice.”

Occasional, sailing clouds reflected like shadows on Iorweth’s face. His leather boots made no sound as he traipsed the grassed edge of the road.

“You said she trained in the temple in Ellander. I thought priestesses of Melitele served for life.”

“Yes… she came back.”

His silence was a question. I took a decision to spill my heart, although not entirely knowing why.

“After mother died, Yanis decided it was best to send her to the temple. She expressed interest in it as a child... After a year and a half apart, I sent her a letter, asking her to return. She did.”

My face warmed, but he didn’t interrupt me.

“Our father doesn’t know I’m the reason Delys came back. I have regretted it ever since, because of how I... I stole something from her, no matter how many times she’s assured me she came back willingly.”

“So,” he said, “you convinced her to return and lead a life as a war criminal rather than as a revered disciple of your Goddess.”

I halted. He read me like a book, and I didn’t appreciate the feeling.

“Delys and I didn’t take part in the -”

“It doesn’t matter. You are a hav’careen, and as hated as the Scoia’tael are.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice!” I hissed, ignoring the fact that he repeated Dely’s own words a few days earlier.

He remained in a momentary silence that told me he had little pity for me.

“Why did you ask your sister to come back from the temple?”

“Because I missed her,” I exhaled, jaw taut. “I couldn’t stand being without her.”

“You fear to be alone, dyfirg.”

Damn this elf and his way of stating things that made me feel naked. Had he no compassion? I pushed down an impulse to snarl at him.

“No. No, I love being - alone.” I swallowed. “I’m afraid of being abandoned, if that makes any sense.” 

I didn’t know why I said it. Perhaps it was fatigue. Perhaps it was my conviction that after all this, we would part and never meet again. No one had listened to me as he did at that moment.

For a long time, neither of us said anything. Everything stilled, the way it does when one bares their heart on their sleeve. All that was heard was the occasional gust of wind through the Ginatia bushes and the faint cry of a sparrowhawk above us. I anticipated the narrowing of his eye, the sign of contempt. He didn’t scold me. Instead, he gained one of his wistful expressions, lost in thought.

Without a word, we continued our march towards the mountains. 

That night, I lay down and fell asleep under my fur, exhausted to the mind rather than the body.

*

During the next days, the landscape changed from vast stretches of woodland to heather- and bush-covered hills and wetlands. The white mountain tops loomed over us like the body of an enormous God. I marched behind Iorweth into a stretch of soggy grass when he stopped. With a surprised sound, I bumped into his back.

“This fen ahead of us - it stretches for miles. We should round it.”

“Why round it?” I wiped my forehead, warm and damp from our pace, “the fastest way must be to go through it?”

“You are revealing your limited knowledge of these territories.”

“Hey! I grew up in Kaedwen. What are you not telling me? Is it full of monsters?”

“A few, but they shouldn't pose any problem in daylight. I’m thinking of the mosquitoes. The recent sunlight should have hatched them.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I admit I never left the river area much as a child, but do you seriously think I’ll have a problem with bugs?”

With those words, I passed him and jumped over the water to the nearest patch of grass.

“Whatever you say, dyfirg.”

We continued the jumping and hopping from patch to patch of grass to avoid the marshy vegetation of the fen. At first, I enjoyed the sight of the landscape; cranberry plants, wet moss, bulrush and hare’s tail. My mother told us tales of how the trolls harvested the soft plant to use as fodder for their pillows. Within a few minutes, a veritable cloud of mosquitoes and gnats followed me, stinging and biting at every space of exposed flesh. The buzz of the swarm was deafening.

I whacked my bitten, bleeding neck.

“Sodding…”

“I hate to say I told you so.”

Iorweth did nothing to hide his smirk. I cast him an infuriated gaze and hid my face in my hood. 

“Why aren’t they biting _you_?”

Flailing my arms around my head, I hoped to whack the life out of as many of the blood-sucking little monsters as possible.

Iorweth effortlessly jumped ahead of me, unaffected by the aerial attack.

“They don’t care for elves. Perhaps we don’t taste good.” His neutral expression prevented me from telling if he was joking or not.

“Are you telling me the mosquitoes are racist? Even in a ploughing _swamp,_ we can’t escape bigots…”

To my outright surprise, Iorweth laughed in a short bark. The amused sound made me forget the torment of the elf-intolerant insects. As if taken aback by his own reaction, he cleared his throat and regained his usual dour face.

“I guess it’s the first time I’m affected by racism in a positive way. Come on. The fen only stretches on for another mile.”

I groaned.

*

When the marshy landscape turned solid, marked by birches and scattered firs, the cloud of insects ceased their torment. I relaxed my muscles and dared to lower the hood of my cape. I imagined I looked dishevelled, like a sad, sweaty needle cushion. My neck and wrists burned from bites, but at least I had managed to keep my shoes dry.

I paused to drink and dabbed my skin to ease the sting, but Iorweth scolded me for wasting drinking water. I clenched my jaw; he was right. I insisted we went through the fen and had to live with the consequences.

Marching in front of me, Iorweth gave his usual, infuriating impression of youthful vigour. How was it possible for him to always be so unruffled, and… strong?

I rolled my eyes internally at how _human_ it was of me to find an elf attractive. What would I do next? Insist all dwarves were drunkards? Claim all halflings were cheap? I sighed and scratched my red, swollen wrists.

Through the crook of his eye, Iorweth cast a glance at the movements of my hands and stopped. He grabbed my wrist. I pulled, but he was stronger.

Confounded, I blinked as he took a canister from his bag that contained a eucalyptus-smelling pulp. He carefully applied it to the bites on my skin. The sting immediately subdued. Intense relief, like quenching thirst, washed over me.

When he lifted his hand to the back my neck, I stiffened. His soaked fingertips gently ran over my skin in small circles. I soon relaxed into his touch, mesmerized by his long eyelashes, trying hard not to gawk at his lips.

The faint massage went on too long; or was it over too soon? I darted him an unsure gaze as he lowered his hand. Did he deliberately let his fingers linger on my pulse point?

“Thank you,” I whispered, unable to stop the heat that crept up my neck.

“I didn’t want you to make a fuss the rest of our travels. Or slow us down.”

A sting of irritation bit me like the bugs; all the hazy sensation of before vanished.

“I _wasn’t_ \- oh, let’s go,” I hissed.

“We will, but you know, I smeared this on my skin before we reached the fen. It’s the reason the mosquitoes didn’t bite me.

“You didn’t care to tell me?”

“I wanted you to learn a valuable lesson.”

It took all the willpower I had not to take my crossbow and shoot him in the behind. A fitting expression in Elder Speech came to mind.

“Oh, me a’baeth aep arse.”

“Elaine,” he countered with dripping irony and continued walking.

*

We spent the night on a pine-covered ridge overviewing the fen, the vale beyond it, the faint glitter of the Lixela. The air ran thin and dry through our lungs; my lips strained when I smiled, which truth be told wasn’t often.

After we’d had our supper of dried fish, wild rice, walnuts and apples, I curled up at the bonfire with a fur over my shoulders. A mug of tea warmed my hands. The air hung pleasantly still, cold but not biting. The colours of the setting sun receded as the golden orb settled beyond the horizon to give way to the night.

Aware Iorweth was watching me, I stiffened my shoulders. The flames of the fire reflected in his eye and in the insignias fastened to his armour. He lifted his eye to a hooting sound above us.

“The Kaedweni owl,” I said. “He is calling for his mate. They are heard this time of year, before their young hatch.”

Iorweth didn’t answer. After a few moments, another call tooted further away, the reply of the female owl.

“We call them _Thylluanod_. They are bearers of good fortune, or harbingers of death, depending on a series of other signs.”

“What other signs?” I wrapped the fur tighter around my shoulders.

“The position of the stars, among others. And the season, as you pointed out.”

“What does the call of the owl mean tonight?”

Iorweth paused and observed the flames of the fire.

“Let us hope it’s a sign of fortune. We’ll need it, fighting the river monster.”

I shuddered at the thought but tensed the muscles in my jaw in determination. We would find the Coram Astera, and a way to draw the monster away from the mill. Or kill it. What other hope did I have?

“I don’t need signs. I need insight. Methods. I know we can do it.”

“Hold on to that faith.”

“Iorweth..?”

“Yes?”

“Are we having a conversation?”

He gave me a confused, frustrated expression and swore silently in negation.

I chuckled but grew cold from an unbidden thought. 

Was I - bantering with this elf? Did that mean I didn’t hate him anymore? Searching my heart, I found no other answer. I guessed I should be relieved; hatred made for a bad travelling company. Still, something about warming up to him made me anxious. Perhaps it was a mistake to put my guard down too low.

*

We started our journey early the next morning. Our goal was to reach the mountains by afternoon and spend the night in the hunter’s cabin Iorweth earlier spoke of.

I had slept well and woke with a sense of renewed strength, readier to climb the arduous journey up the mountain base than ever. Finches sang in the roof of tree branches above us, a red squirrel dashed from a tree trunk to another. The air smelled of snow; the clouds gathered at the east. From a distance, the flow of the Lixela reached our ears.

My mood sailed bright enough to venture for another conversation with my broody companion.

“Iorweth, can I ask you a question?”

“I’m all ears, as we elves like to say.”

I snorted. “Did you just make a joke?”

“What was your question, dyfirg?”

“Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

“I will. So; Efa told us of an elven deity, the Eternal One…”

“What would you know of elven worship?”

His voice held a sharp edge; I shrank a little. “I know she was a deity of creation, not unlike our Melitele...”

“She has nothing to do with your lowly goddess. No dh’oine would ever understand the complexity of elven religion. You imagine the creation in simple terms; formed in linear time, in a single realm…”

“You know what?” I snarled, “I’m starting to believe elves claim their religion is more intricate than humans' to hide the fact that they are alike! You’re… too stuck on your high horses to admit the similarities! Goddess forbid any human would understand your worldview - you’d have to consider you’re not so superior after all!”

Iorweth took a step towards me, eye menacingly narrowed.

“You think you are the first dh’oine to believe you could ever grasp the viewpoint of elves. You’re all the same -”

We stood so close his breath whisked in my face. 

“I didn’t say I would! But another human could! I swear to the Goddess, if your head was planted any further up your arse, you’d -”

Before I finished my scathing sentence, the ground rumbled beneath us. It cracked open with a coarse, yawning sound. I let out an exasperated yelp as we tumbled down a landslide of earth, roots and rock, holding on to each other for dear life. The earth opened to the riverside; we fell onto the sand as if born by the soil, coughing and spitting.

Through the hole in the steep wall that separated the river bank from the forest floor, the head of a giant centipede erupted. It screeched and flailed its many legs. The monster lunged at Iorweth who jumped aside. He armed himself with his bow and shot an arrow that bounced against the creature’s carapace.

I resisted my impulse to jump into the river to escape. I didn’t know these waters, and I couldn’t abandon Iorweth…

The elf aimed another arrow; this time, it hit between the layers of the monster’s hard shell, causing it to wail. My bones turned to jelly from fright. I had to do something...

My crossbow was useless against such a creature. Bending down, I picked up a large, sharp rock, lifted it over my head, and with all my might, threw it on the creature’s head. It hit with a faint crack. The centipede hissed and turned to me. My stomach sank down my pants.

Sprinting, my boots slid against the sandy ground. I fell with a scream but managed to roll away from the centipede’s frothing mouth. The cries of the monster hurt my ears. I got up on my feet fast enough to avoid a shot of hissing spit.

My heart threatened to pound its way out of my body. I was used to stalking prey, not become prey, and my stamina rapidly diminished. I jumped aside from one more attack of the monster when it emitted a panicked scream. I looked back to see Iorweth dashing towards me. One of his arrows penetrated the centipede’s eye. The creature twitched and turned with a wheezing hiss, blind and disoriented.

Iorweth pulled my arm and jumped to avoid the splashes of green blood that seeped into the ground. The acid stench curled my insides in nausea. We ran until we were sure the centipede wasn’t following us.

Panting, I fell onto my rear, a stitch in my side and my heart cramped up my throat. Iorweth crouched and placed his hand on my shoulders.

“That was foolish. The _yghern_ could have killed you.”

“I had to do something!” I pushed a dirt-covered strand of my hair from my face. “You could have died too!”

“I was handling it.”

“No, you weren’t! If I hadn’t interfe- a!”

I jolted when he slid his hands down my arms and grazed a fresh cut in my bicep. A streak of blood coloured his leather gloves.

“We need to clean your wounds. Let’s build a fire and rest before we move on.”

“It’s only a scratch…”

“Be quiet.”

Tired to my bones; I acquiesced and let him pull me up on my feet. At that moment, the last snow of the year began to fall from the grey skies.

*

After we had cleaned the worst of the dirt off our garments and tended to our cuts and scrapes, we are a hasty meal and continued towards the mountains. The snow tumbled from the skies and soon covered the ground thick enough to slow us down. We walked at a slow pace due to my palpable fatigue.

“We won’t make it to the base of the mountain, or the cabin, until nightfall,” Iorweth concluded. “We’d best camp. That fir will make for good shelter.”

He pointed at a large tree with branches wide enough to spread its needles like a huge blanket over the newly fallen snow. Iorweth got to work and dug a hole to the earth at the trunk of the tree, large enough to fit us both. He walked over to another tree and cut a few thick branches that he lay on the ground to form a mat against the cold soil.

I helped by packing the walls of the snow to prevent it from falling over us, and by spreading our furs over the layer of branches. Underneath the roof of the needles, the small cavern we build covered us from the falling flakes and from the outside world. I lit a lantern, enjoying its warm, circular light. My whole world smelled of fir needles, fresh soil and leather.

Sitting with legs against my chest, hands knitted around my shins, I enjoyed the odd pleasantness of the situation. Iorweth climbed into the shelter.

“We’ll have to sleep together.”

I stiffened.

He cast me a pointy glance. “It’s about preserving body heat and nothing else -”

“Oh please,” I derided, “don’t tell me you think I’m happy about it?”

“The fascination humans hold for elven beauty is widely known.”

I narrowed my eyes at his smirk. Was he joking? The stuck-up, impossible...

“Well, that doesn’t mean I’m -” I blushed at my blatant lie. Anger swelling in my chest, I mustered the courage for a retort. “You know what? You elves speak of humans as if the attraction was one-sided. Are all the half-elves born by human women the result of elven men coming to their beds unwillingly, hm?”

“I’ve never understood the attraction some of my brethren feel towards dh’oine.” Iorweth deliberately looked me in the eye with a derogatory expression.

“I don’t care what you think,” I hissed, a weight dropping in my stomach. I fought an intense wish to hide my face from him, hot from anger.

All men were the same, thinking the insult “ugly” was the worst they could accuse a woman of. Men always placed beauty above all other female virtues no matter how strong, brave or intelligent you were. Still, no human could compare to the radiance of elves... Even the ones considered lesser beauties amongst themselves took one’s breath away. Everyone knew Francesca Findabair was the most beautiful woman in the world.

So what if Iorweth didn’t find me attractive? He wasn’t the one to talk, with the disfiguring scar that ran across his face… Oh, who was I trying to fool? His beauty appeared as obvious as the sun was warm or the rabbit’s pelt was soft. A plague on him, the ploughing, self-righteous, flute playing jerk…

I lay on down without a word of goodnight and clamp my eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep and forget this whole disaster of a day. After a few moments, Iorweth lay down beside me in an awkward position that didn’t preserve heat very well. It had to do. Had he tried to spoon me, I would have kicked him where it hurt.

*

I woke early, at sunrise, by the chirp of tits and blackbirds in the branches above us. Warm and drowsy, I shifted to melt further into the body behind me. Sometime during the night, Iorweth had turned to place his arm around me. His breath warmed the back of my neck. Wide awake, I pushed him from me as soon as I opened my eyes with a hot flash running through my chest. He stiffened in an expression that mirrored my own attempt to hide my embarrassment in anger. 

In silence, we shared our breakfast of lembas and a few dried apricots and berries, swilled down with cold water.

The clouds cleared over the night; the light broke over the horizon in a yellow tone as I rolled our furs and fastened them to our packing. Iorweth dug a path through the snow to release us from the shelter of the fir.

I was binding my snowshoes when he turned his neck and spoke in a sombre tone, his eye not meeting mine.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said yesterday. I don’t wish for us to be at our throats this journey.”

“What?”

“I don’t think you are… unattractive. Even though you are a dh’oine.”

I shuffled past him, chin held high.

“And I told you I don’t care what you think.” My cheeks burned, and my heart thundered.

His footsteps crunched the snow behind me. “I don’t want to spend the rest of this trip with you spitting like a wyvern...”

“Then how about you shut your trap?”

“Bloede… Fine.”

We spent the entire morning marching towards the mountain base in sullen silence.

*

After a lunch of dry fish and more dried fruit, washed down with hot tea, we reached the base of the mountains as the sun hit zenith. I lifted my hand to shade my eyes. The cut in my bicep stung but healed well. The tall, snow-clad mountains rolled its pointy scales for miles and miles, like a huge armour of granite upon the lands. Above us echoed a faint screech. I searched with my gaze for its source and gasped when a winged creature soared from a cliff to our east, large like a horse.

“Iorweth, look!” I whispered, mesmerized by the sight.

“A forktail.” He frowned. “We need to be alert. They don’t mind human snacks.”

I arched an eyebrow. “And what about you? They don’t eat elves in general or prickly elves in particular?”

“Very funny. I’d kill it before it got to me.”

I clicked my tongue in a mocking sound.

“I bet not even witchers could kill something so large. Let’s keep an eye out.”

“Your sister was sure the flower she needed grew on the mountain base?”

“Yes - or just above it. Let’s take off our snowshoes and climb a bit further.”

He grunted.

“Great.”

We were in incredible luck. It didn’t take us more than an hour to find an exemplar of the Coram Astera, creeping up the walls of the cliff above us. We craned our necks to witness the star-shaped flower, white like the snow but with a buttery core, surrounded by thick, fuzzy leaves.

Iorweth shaded his eye with his hand.

“It won’t be easy to get to it.”

I looked around. No pathway led to the edge of the cliff above us. There was only one thing to do.

“I’ll climb.”

“You’ll - the stone is sleek like a sheet.”

“Uh-uh. Look. A crack in the wall. I can do it if you hoist me up.”

“You _are_ crazy.”

I smiled. “Trust me. Take off your bow. Stand with both feet planted on the ground and your back to the cliff, like this.”

I pushed his knee to encourage him to stand in a squared position. He blinked.

“Bend your knees. I’m going to use your thighs as leverage. Don’t look so afraid, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not afraid, I think you are mad.”

“There. Ok? I’m going to stand on your shoulders.”

“On my -”

“Careful! You almost had us fall. Concentrate. I’m going up. Stand still.”

He lifted his hands to grab at my calves and shifted to gain balance. The snow under his feet groaned. From my position on his shoulders, I wedged my fingers into the crack in the wall and hoisted myself up. My feet planted against the rock, I heaved to reach the ledge with one hand. Triumph roaring in my veins, I pulled my body over the edge, panting from exertion.

Carefully, I bent to pick the flower and stem with a smile. I placed it between the pages of a small book my sister sent me.

“I’ve got it!” I turned with to the elf below me, elation radiating in my chest. 

“Morgan, look out!”

The flap of gigantic wings travelled through the air. I darted my gaze to the east, breath caught in my lungs. The forktail flew towards me with fangs bared, screeching like a banshee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, sorry about another cliffhanger! In the next chapter, the slow burn will officially be over. 
> 
> Elder Speech: 
> 
> Me a’baeth aep arse - kiss my ass.
> 
> Elaine - lovely.
> 
> Yghern - giant centipede. 
> 
> “I’m all ears, as we elves like to say” is my favourite quote by Zevran Arainai from Dragon Age: Origins.


	11. Chapter 11

“Jump! Veloë!” Iorweth yelled.

I couldn’t jump, not without breaking my bones, but I needed to get away lest I wished to be monster fodder. I swung my legs over the ledge, grasped the edge of the cliff to plant my body against the wall and yelled,

“Catch me!”

The pitch of my voice cracked from fright. I let go of my grasp -

\- and fell into Iorweth’s arms. We tumbled on the snow. I landed on my back to witness the forktail crash into the cliff, fangs dripping with saliva and its small eyes burning.

In a fluid motion, Iorweth grabbed his bow and aimed. He hit the monster in the neck below the jaw. The forktail screeched in pain and frustration. I equipped my crossbow and sent a bolt in its shoulder, Iorweth hit is again in the chest.

The forktail jumped from the cliff with a guttural wail and flew off, screaming loud enough for my ears to ring. It left a bloodstain on the granite.

Iorweth turned to me and asked if I was alright. My ankle hurt but I nodded, adrenaline pumping in my veins.

“The Coram Astera - I got it!”

He neared me to get a look into the pressed, star-shaped flower and meaty stem in my book. Our eyes met, and I let out a mix of a laugh and exhale. On an impulse, I embraced him, ecstatic to be alive.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He slowly returned the embrace with an awkward clench to the arm.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said and released me. The depth of his eye plunged like a well. “Not until we have the key.”

He let out a puff of air through his nose. “You climb like a squirrel.”

My lips parted. His voice held a softness that turned my legs to jelly. Shit, I eyed his mouth!

We let go of each other and brushed the snow from our clothes. Further down the mountain, to the east, lay the hunter’s cabin. We left to march towards it, my cheeks burning hot despite the frigid air. The cry of the forktail lingered, bouncing against the cliffs.

*

When we approached the cabin, my face cracked open in a smile. Next to the log frame of the main house stood a smaller hut with a funnel to the eastern side of its walls. A sweating hut, or banias as we called them in Kaedwen. I couldn’t wait to heat it up. I shot a quick glance around the premises. A woodpile climbed the walls, tall and well stocked.

I didn’t wish to waste any time and scurried out to the bania after we deposited our packing in the cabin. Iorweth sent me one of his glances that I no longer interpreted as irritable, but curious. He didn’t say anything.

Feeding the stove with birch logs until the flames soared, I ran out to the nearby creek to crack a hole in the ice. I filled two buckets of icy cold water and carried them into the bania.

Iorweth met me at the door.

“What are you doing?”

I brushed my palms together.

“I’m heating up the bania. I’m going to sweat in it after I’ve had something to eat.”

He folded his arms on his chest.

“I’ve heard of this strange custom among Kaedweni dh’oine.”

“You should try it.” I brushed past him. “It’s relaxing. Maybe it’ll help against your cold shoulder.”

*

Less than an hour later, I sat in the heat of the baina, regretting I had offered Iorweth to join me. Contrary to feeling relaxed, I tensed on the wooden bench. The warmth that crept up my cheeks had nothing to do with temperature.

I usually sweat bathed naked, lying on my back on the wooden bench like a pudding. In this particular bania, I wore my tunic that covered my body down to my thighs. Grabbing the wooden spoon in the pail, I splashed more water onto the stones that covered the heated stove. The water hissed against the heated rocks and rose in a cloud of vapour.

I cocked my head up as Iorweth entered from the adjacent, small room. He wore nothing but a fur wrapped around his hips and his headscarf. Hesitating for a moment, he marched over and sat beside me on the bench.

I scooted to give him space and closed my eyes, trying to enjoy the heat. _Melitele's tits, but this was awkward_. The image of his floral tattoo that reached from his bicep to his neck left my mouth dry.

I was still surprised that he agreed to try the bania. After I heated the stove, we shared a meal in the cabin. Iorweth removed the worst of the cobwebs and lit the hearth. Carpets weaved in a typical, Kaedweni pattern hung on the walls to prevent the cold from penetrating the room. A squared table and a chair stood posited against the northern wall, accompanied by a rickety bed. I blushed at the sight of its small frame. It wasn't constructed for two.

We ate in silence when Iorweth casually blurted that he wished to experience sweat bathing.

The blessed warmth from the stove permeated my body and loosened the tightness in my muscles. Iorweth switched weight on the bench.

“I can’t say this relaxes me. How you dh’oine enjoy sweating is beyond me. But I suppose it’s nice to get warm.”

I opened my eyes and smiled.

“This is only the first part of the bania experience. After this, we snow bathe.”

“We - did you say snow bathe?”

I smiled in response and walked into the other room, closing the door not to let the heat out. The next step required no hesitation. I discarded my tunic, opened the door to the outside, and lept out in the snow. Although the cold burned my skin and left me gasping, I loved this part of sweat baths. It whipped your mind and left you feeling reborn.

Iorweth appeared in the door frame.

“My conviction of the insanity of dh’oine is more and more confir -“

I interrupted him with a well-aimed snowball to his chest. He gritted his teeth and brushed the remaining flakes from his clavicle.

“Very mature.”

“Come on, get over here! Or, at least get out enough for me to get in again without you ogling me.”

He knitted his eyebrows in response but stepped outside and averted his gaze to let me in.

Well inside, I patted my cool body with a soft rabbit fur and stepped back into the heated room, shivering. I called for him that it was ok to enter as soon as I had redressed in my stupid tunic.

He ambled inside, skin covered in goosebumps. My pulse sped up at the sight. Feigning indifference, I splashed more water onto the hot stones and enjoyed the spreading heat.

“How did you get that scar?”

I opened my eyes and lowered my gaze to the pink mass of healed skin on my right thigh. A small laugh escaped my mouth.

“A nekker youngling. I may have… tried to keep it as a pet.”

He stared at me before he snorted and leaned his the back of his head against the wall.

“It sounds like something you would do.”

I chuckled. “Mother and Yanis were so mad at me when they found out! I learned my lesson.”

Iorweth shook his head with a crooked smile. We returned to the previous, warm silence, enjoying the steaming heat. I sighed and closed my eyes in bliss. Using a handful of birch leaves, I scathed any remaining dirt from my skin, starting with my neck.

In a sudden motion, Iorweth stood up, speaking in a strangled voice.

“I’ve had enough.”

Confused at his abrupt withdrawal, I frowned. _Well, if he didn’t wish to stay…_ I took the opportunity that solitude allowed to strip and enjoy the bania naked.

*

When I re-entered the cabin, shivering from the cold, the fire crackled cosily in the hearth. The flames spread a warm light on the mats attached to the walls and spilt like a puddle of light on the floor. The scent of lit candles and warm skin reached my senses. I had showered my body in the rest of the water, redressed in a shirt and my leather trews and placed a few drops of the lavender-tinted olive oil on my neck.

Iorweth stood by the single table in the room, wearing a long shirt, leather pants and his usual bandana. He arranged the contents of his package, acknowledging my presence with a quick glance.

Although dressed in a relaxed fashion, his shoulders tensed under the soft linen of his shirt. I closed the door behind me and shifted from one foot to the other.

“You can take the bed.”

He turned with a frown.

“What?”

“The bed.” My face flushed with heat. “You can take it. I’ll sleep on the furs, by the hearth.”

Not responding, Iorweth leaned against the table, his rear barely touching the edge. My sly intention that he would protest and offer me the bed failed. He remained silent with an inexplicable expression, arms folded on his chest.

The look in his eye made me want to fidget. I stepped over to the hearth to arrange the furs.

“Morgan.”

I stilled. He uttered my name calmly, reverently. The tender but urging tone of his voice stopped the air in my lungs.

Iorweth lifted his hand.

“Come here.”

The atmosphere of the room shifted. Perhaps the whole world shifted and slanted to another angle. I, who never followed any man’s order, paced towards him, slow like a sleepwalker.

He reached out and grazed my midriff to pull me into the v of his legs. My heart pounded in my chest. His facial features were still, a certain softness surfaced from his eye. His hands grasped my waist, thumbs circling the cloth of my shirt and his gaze surveying my mouth. He lifted a hand to pull my face to his.

This wasn’t a dream. Without hesitation, I placed my hands on his shoulders to meet his lips with mine. It felt like diving into unknown waters. Instead of fear, I was filled with nothing but anticipation.

Our kisses began slow, a cautious exploring. I mewled at the increasingly eager presses of his full lips against mine, at the scent of his warm skin. He soon angled his head to deepen the embrace and I opened up to accept the sweep of his tongue. Overcome by a rapid sensation of careening down a waterfall of want where nothing mattered but right there and then, I raised my hands to cup his face and bring him closer.

He tugged at my shirt. I lifted my arms to help him pull it over my head, breathing hard. I pulled at his shirt, driven by a need to be skin to skin, to caress his tattoo as if it was done with my touch in mind. He pulled me closer and kissed me again, hands caressing my back. A wave of tingles danced on my skin.

He broke the kiss to let his mouth wander to my neck.

“... smell so good,” he mumbled against my clavicle.

I didn’t want his words, I wanted to lose control, to get as close as possible. I wanted for this to never end, to forget about everything but this room and relish in his mouth on my body.

As if reading my mind, he let one hand sneak to my breast and caught a nipple in his mouth. I gasped and arched into his mouth. Swirling further down the maelstrom of burning need, I grasped his shoulders, eyes closed in bliss. He continued to nosh on my nipple, kissed the underside of my breast, still pressing me against him with a firm hand on my back. Every hair on my arms raised from pleasure, that place between my legs a hot, pulsating mess.

Nuzzling the vale between my breasts, he slipped two fingers between my legs, rubbing a firm circle on top of my pants. I gasped and tensed, surprised by the bright intensity of the feeling. He tightened the hold of my back as if he had anticipated the reaction, his hot breath fanning my skin. Without mercy, he continued the circling motion while teasing my nipple with his lips with a content sound. A throaty moan broke from my mouth, resembling a sob.

Breathing hard, he stopped the motion to pull at the string of my trews. I leaned back to help him when he pushed from the table. He turned me to pull my pants and underwear from my hips in an impatient tug and gently guided me to lean against the edge as he had. My skin burned, my heart thundered. The seconds it took him to remove the garments took too long.

When he knelt as in prayer between my legs, spreading my knees with his hands, I halted. _Was he - going to..?_

He met my gaze, eye burning.

“I want to taste you. Let me taste you.” Again, his words were more of a plea than a command.

Flushing, I nodded and surrendered to whatever he wished to do. My entire being longed for him to go where everything throbbed like a sun about to melt.

His hands warm on my thighs, he placed a trail of kisses down my abdomen, over the dark hair of my mons. A whimper escaped my mouth when he slid the tip of his tongue along my soaked slit. He nibbled at me with a satisfied sound, like he could do this forever and be happy. When he opened me with his hand and pushed his tongue deep inside me, grazing my clit with his nose, I keened. No one had ever touched me like this, no one - _oh Goddess -_

He blinked and met my gaze. The sight of my slick arousal on his lips sent a flash of heat through my chest. With a twitch to the corners of his mouth, he opened me again to lap at that spot while slipping a finger into my heat. His pointed ear tickled the inside of my thigh. I closed my eyes with a whine, _yes_ , right there…

Feverishly, I bit my lip, exhaled in short heady gasps, raked my nails into his shoulder. I think I uttered words; prayers for him not to stop, repeated exclamations of the Goddess’ name between pants and moans, climbing higher and higher until I was flying...

“That’s good,” Iorweth crooned, voice dark with want, “cáemm yn me cegau, me dyfirgin.”

He slipped another finger inside me in a curved motion and flicked his tongue against my clit. I whimpered. Everything inside me tightened into a hard knot of pleasure. A burst of light shimmered along the insides of my thighs and over my body in convulsing waves of hot liquid, like melted gold, like honey. Slumping, warm and enthralled, I held on to his shoulder.

He raised on his feet, freed his erection from his trews and grasped at my knee to wrap my leg around his hip. In one slow push, he buried himself inside me.

I gasped, eyebrows knitted and mouth open in a silent ‘o’. His intrusion didn't cause a tinge of discomfort, only a sensation of _rightness_ to be this close, this merged. Iorweth grunted and stilled before he moved his hips in a few tentative thrusts. When he began to thrust in earnest, plunging into me, I cried out, seeking leverage with my palm pressed against the table. Legs wrapped around him, I canted my hips in a desperate need to meet him, abdominal muscles burning from the effort.

Without warning, he pulled out. I exclaimed a small sound of discontent, craving for more. He flipped me on the table and re-entered me from behind with a mesmerised curse. I gasped. _Goddess, how could anything feel so good?_ Meeting him in every thrust, I let go of every thought, every other sensation than him and I, so perfectly synced. The room filled with our moans and the thud of the table, repeatedly clapping into the wall. Each time he entered me, he hit a spot that sent wondrous flashes along my spine until my whole body shook, slick with sweat like in the bania. He breathed hard, grasping my hips until he tensed with a strangled cry and stilled, muscles taut like a bow.

An odd warmth pulsed inside me. None of us moved but rested to catch our breath and to let the furious pounding of our hearts slowly abate.

*

I woke up from the light that flowed through the window made by pieces of glass bottles fused together with clay. For a long, yet fleeting moment, I opened my eyes with a feeling of utter contentment, warm and relaxed in a way I hadn’t been in years. The weight of Iorweth’s arm around my waist functioned like a mental slap.

By Melitele’s tits...

Ironically, none of us had used the bed last night. We had both been too tired to do anything but tumble onto the furs after our act, my back against his front and a blanket covering us, falling asleep.

Flushing, I remembered waking up in the middle of the night from the feeling of his hard length pressed against the small of my back. His hot breath fanned against my neck. I answered by undulating my behind against his pelvis and gasped when he slipped into my wet heat, pulsating from anticipation. Raw from our earlier activities, I still craved for more. Slowly, agonisingly, we moved together. He breathed moans and sweet curses into my ear, circling my clit with his fingers until we both reached the crest of our pleasure. We fell back in a warm, hazy sleep.

Once could have been a mistake. Twice?

It’s only human, I told myself, and elven, perhaps. Our bodies were young - well, at least mine was - and healthy. It was only natural. We were tired and needed to get our edge off. It didn’t have to mean anything.

For someone who claimed I had acted out of a need for relaxation, I was strangely tensed. Driven by intense thirst, I climbed out of the warmth of our confinement and got dressed in a clean tunic and my leather boots. I drank from the pail by the door, threw my parkas over my shoulders and went outside to relieve myself.

I crouched over the snow on the backside of the cabin, thinking about what I would say to Iorweth once he awoke. My insides tightened from anxiety. What would he do? Smile? Embrace me? What would I do then? We weren’t lovers now, were we?

Mother of all that is, I prayed, guide me for I haven’t got a ploughing idea how to behave.

When I stepped back into the cabin, stomping my feet free from snow, Iorweth was up. He fed the rekindled fire in the hearth with logs, dressed in his leather trews and his headband. My mouth ran dry at the sight of his bared torso, the veins that travelled along his arms, the sculpted shape of his face. At that moment, I accepted the notion of being his lover without question. If he walked over to embrace me, I would be lost.

As it turned out, I needn’t worry. Iorweth merely glanced at me, shoulders stiff, and moved to the table to arrange a meagre breakfast of water and lembas.

“Let us leave as soon as we can.”

I stared at his back, unable to form words. An ache settled in my stomach like a fervid lump of coal. He regretted last night. He didn’t wish to speak of it, that much was clear. Perhaps he was disgusted by our actions, displeased for allowing himself a moment of weakness with a human?

A wave of shame flowed through me, causing the hairs on my arms to stand up. I didn’t feel like eating but impelled myself to wash down a few mouthfuls of lembas with a mug of cool water. We packed, restocked the firewood for the next travellers, swept the floor from dust, and killed the fire in the hearth.

When we left, we still hadn’t said a single word to each other besides him asking if I was ready, to which I replied with a hum.

So began the most awkward day in my life.

We spent the day without speaking. He still hadn’t acknowledged me with so much as a glance when we settled to make camp at night. The snow melted to a chill slush during the day but refroze by night. Wordlessly, he arranged the furs for us to offer each other body warmth. Although my insides twisted from being physically close to someone so distant, I lay down beside him and accepted the arm he offered as support. I prayed the night would be over soon.

The next day continued as awkward as the last. We shared short meals, marched through the landscape devoid of snow apart from a few white patches on the ground. Avoiding the occasional human settlement and nekker territory, we traversed the landscape in silence.

The tensed atmosphere frayed my nerves. Whenever I sat, a faint, warm ache still settled between my legs, a cruel reminder of the act we shared. At least with this pace, we would reach the others in the gnome settlement in roughly two days and I would be relieved of his sullen company.

On our third day after the night in the cabin, we climbed a pine-covered hill. The wind carried scents of budding leaves and fresh soil. Despite myself, I paused to drink the sight of the lands. The mountains loomed to the east, illuminated by the rising sun. I gazed over the rolling hills and ridges, green from the great oaks, firs and pines, from the sleek birches and the occasional apple- and cherry trees. In only a few weeks’ time, those trees would blossom with snowy white and pink flowers, shedding their petals to form a soft mat on the grounds. The distant call of the common loon rang in my heart.

Iorweth surprised me by making a sudden halt, his hands around his head as if in pain.

“I can’t,” he groaned.

I cast him a confused glance. He paced back and forth, eyeing me, his shoulders stiff and hands clenching. He stopped with a naked expression on his face.

“I can’t hold it back anymore. It’s agony. I can’t help these - these feelings.” He fixed his gaze into mine. “Morgan. I prize you. No, more than that. I want you. You are strong and caring, and brave. The way you look upon the lands with such reverence…

I stared at him in limitless surprise, mouth open. He must have taken it as a form of acquiescence because he continued his rambling.

“You are part of the race I have sworn to combat until I die, a mistake that landed on this earth. My brethren will ridicule me. ‘A filthy dh’oine’…”

At those words, anger burned in my stomach and left an acidic taste in my mouth. Stone-faced, I let him finish his speech.

“That is why this must be real, because otherwise I - I could never acknowledge it. I want you.”

His eye roamed over me with a softness I didn’t know he possessed.

“I never thought I would feel this way for a...” He took a step closer. “Me elaine Morgan. It won’t be easy, but you and I -”

I took a step back from his outstretched hand. “I’m sorry, but what makes you think there’s a ‘you and I’?”

He froze with a disbelieving expression on his face.

My heart rate sped up from resentment.

“Am I supposed to be flattered? I never wished for you to want me. I certainly never asked for it.”

My cheeks grew hot. I ignored the tears that burned behind my lids.

Iorweth narrowed his eye. “I’ve hurt your pride. But did you really think I could be happy about how I feel?”

“Even if you hadn’t confessed your feelings with the grace of a troll, I still wouldn’t have wanted to be with you!” I exclaimed. “As long as I’ve known you, you have proven yourself to be cruel, arrogant and proud!”

A painful needle stick pinched my heart as I shouted those words, but I didn’t plan on stopping.

“You told me you didn’t care whether my father was dead or alive! You hurt my sister!”

He stared at me, blushing in anger. My voice broke, but I didn’t care.

“You told Shioned to leave, didn’t you? You told her not to get involved with Delys. She loved her, Iorweth! It was wrong, and I - I hate you for it. You’re the last man in this world I’d wish to be with.”

He flinched. “You didn’t seem to mind their separation any more than I did.”

“I was wrong,” I swallowed, “I know that now.”

“Shioned is a warrior,” he growled, “her attachment to your sister weakened her. She is young and can still bear children. I couldn’t let her -”

“Be with a filthy, inferior human? Is that what you were going to say? Do you seriously think of Shioned as a - a breeding stud?”

His body tensed, rigid like a bow-string. He observed me for a few, agonising moments.

“This is how you feel?” He asked slowly, “What about the night in the cabin? What was that? Did it mean nothing?”

I tried my best to look unruffled, but on the inside, I was in shambles. I wanted to be alone. I fought a desperate need to cry I didn’t understand.

“No - yes - no. Nothing more than us needing to blow off some steam. We were tired, and tensed, and needed relaxation -”

“That’s all it was to you? Relaxation?”

I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Yes.”

He nodded, and every bounce of his clenched jaw wrote a jagged scar into my heart.

“I guess I should thank you for being sincere.”

With a last, narrowed gaze on me, Iorweth turned, and marched away, silent but impassioned. After a few steps, he stopped.

“If you wish to know, ‘dyfirg’ is Elder Speech for otter.”

With that, he left.

When I no longer discerned his shape between the fir trees, I gave into my exasperation. I sat down on a fallen tree, forehead resting against my palms, and wept. Alone, I let go of weeks of tension and cried over every confusing happening since that day in Ellander. I let myself cry over the man I called father, and my mother who died all those years ago from the river monster’s attack.

When the worst torrent of snot and tears subdued, I dried my face against my sleeves and tried to collect my mind. I would have to find my own way back to my sister and Bertie. I didn’t doubt my ability to orient myself in the Kaedweni landscape.

Going through my packing to determine if my supplies were enough for the rest of the journey, I mulled over our argument. The thought of it prompted new tears to my eyes, but I fought them back with determination.

What other answers could I have given him that didn’t reduce me? Who was I had I accepted such a belittling confession? What was my worth? I would rather live love-less an entire life than being with someone who hated himself for wanting me.

Placing the packing back on my shoulder, I journeyed back to the lowlands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I should tag this fic as idiots to lovers to idiots again? Poor Aen Darcy. But I couldn’t write a straight-forward love story between an elf and a human in the Witcher world. Perhaps especially not involving this particular elf. 
> 
> Has Morgan’s age been mentioned in the fic? She was born in 1249 and is thus 22 years old. She was sixteen when the sawmill was destroyed and her mother died (Delys was eleven). 
> 
> Elder Speech:
> 
> Veloë - fast, quickly
> 
> Cáemm yn me cegau, me dyfirgin - come on my mouth, my (little) otter. Neither cegau or dyfirg are proper Elder Speech but Welsh, added by me. I wonder if Sapkowski ever guessed that fans would expand on his language to write elf smut? I almost feel guilty. Almost.


	12. Chapter 12

I reached Bertie’s birth commune after a day of marching. Stepping the cobblestones of the main road, passing gnomes greeted me with curious nods or unabashed stares. A little girl giggled behind her hand as I passed her family.

Inside, people entered abodes into the mountain, like in Vergen, but the architecture differed from dwarven houses. Where dwarves build their halls after angular patterns, gnomes preferred their homes round. Various workshops and buildings shaped like curious mushrooms with straw roofs scattered around the area. Budding flower beds and tall maple trees that shaded the road inside the commune provided another contrast to the bare stone structure of Vergen.

A sweet smell of newly baked bread and blossom surrounded the communes’ centre. The melodious clank from an armourer’s shop resonated in the air together with a few cackling hens. Delys and Bertie exited a small house together; I waved a relieved greeting. They ran to embrace me. 

Heart aching, I searched for Iorweth but found him nowhere.

Bertie wore a doublet in finest leather and samite, a handsome attire in comparison the rags he wore when we found him. An elderly, elegantly dressed gnome waited behind him. Her grey hair was fastened in a taut bun underneath a silver fox collar and golden bands dotted with aquamarines rattled on her wrists. She lifted a hand to greet me.

“Ah, the other human. Thank you for saving my son, he’s told me all about it. I do regret the loss of his handsome nose but I guess nothing can be done about that. I am Kristin Marklund-Greenleaf, Berthold's mother and the matriarch of this commune. I trust your travels have been well?”

I thanked her, stupefied by her cool elegance. Bertie’s family must have a position of wealth and power in the commune. Kristin waved her hand in a leisurely gesture and motioned us to follow her towards the abodes in the cliff.

“So, human - what was your name again - ah, Morgan, that’s right, I understand you are an entertainer? How curious!”

A weight settled in my stomach at the tinge of contempt in Kristin’s chuckle. Behind her, Bertie made a strained facial expression that told me it wasn’t the first time he’s had to face his mother’s aloofness.

“Yes, madam.”

Kristin made a small, satisfied nod at my correct choice of addressing her. “Do you have a husband, Morgan?”

“Mother!” Bertie groaned.

“But it’s only natural that I ask! This human is old enough to be married, after all! All women should strive to marry and have children as soon as possible, regardless of race. Consider the elves, running around the forests like animals and getting themselves killed - they’re soon gone!”

Bertie continued to explain to his mother it was rude to ask such questions to guests and begged her to show more consideration. She huffed and derided him for still being unmarried. From the unhappy look on his face, the topic of marriage must have made a common basis for arguments in his family. 

Delys hooked her arm in mine and addressed Kristin. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see Morgan to our quarters that you so generously have assigned us and let her rest a bit. She needs a bit to eat and some washing up.”

I sent my sister a grateful eye cast.

Bertie assured us of course, we should rest, and continued to argue with his mother on the necessity of procreation.

We entered our room at the end of the settlement. I crouched not to grind my scalp against the roof and immediately showed Delys the pressed Coram Astera, stem and seeds intact. Her eyes shone with pride and satisfaction.

Nervous, I sat on a tiny chair and cleared my throat.

“Is - is Iorweth here? In the commune?”

She turned to me with a frown while preparing the ingredients for the antidote.

“He was here yesterday but left again after merely an hour. He asked us to take a boat back to Vergen as soon as we’re ready to fight the river monster. Why didn’t you return together?”

My stomach clenched in knots because of what I had to ask her, but I had no time to lose.

“Because - Delys, I need your help. Do you have any dried blood moss? I… I need to make the tea.”

My sister flinched, eyes large. She knew what I asked for, of course - the blood moss infusion used to prevent a child from growing inside you. It was an ancient recipe still forbidden in several provinces reigned by the Church of Eternal Fire but the sisters at the temple of Melitele often handed it out to incognito women. Although aware of the possibility that Iorweth was too old to be fertile, I didn’t plan on taking any chances.

“Did he - did he force you?” Delys whispered, horrified. She grasped my shoulders. “By the Goddess, I’ll -”

Face burning from shame, I shook my head. I didn’t have the bravery to look her in the eyes.

“No, he didn’t force me. I don’t know why I did it. Things have been so confusing lately, and exhausting, and I -”

Delys let go of my arms. I blinked into her face and met her cold stare.

“You made yourself the judge of me and Shioned, claiming the right to know that we shouldn’t be together. And then you do this. How is that fair, Morgan?”

My stomach ache turned into a veritable internal storm. The chill in her voice conferred how much of a hypocrite she found me to be. I reached for her, but she recoiled.

“It isn’t fair,” I whispered, “I’m sorry, Delys. I was wrong. Please, forgive me.”

Her hard mask of anger didn’t falter. I would have preferred if she shouted at me or cried. A dark voice in me told of how much I had failed her, and how selfish my act had been.

“I’ll prepare you the tea,” Delys said, shoulders stiff, “don’t forget to lay down after you’ve had it. You mustn’t vomit, or it has no effect.”

“Thank you.” I hid my face in my hands, feeling worse than a mangy dog.

*

An hour later, I lay on the bed, legs sticking out from its small frame and stomach full of the sharp-tasting blood moss tea. Thoughts of my sister occupied my mind. How I could win her trust back? I had to make things right between us.

When the first convulsions of nausea wrecked my body, I pressed my thumb into my wrist, willing my body to keep the liquid.

_This is the last time I do this_. My eyesight turned dark from the effect of the tea.

*

The next morning, my sister and I prepared to leave for Vergen. None of us wished to stay in the gnomish commune, marked by the pain between us. We met Bertie by our hut, ready to take farewell. My heart ached from regret at the prospect of parting from our friend.

“My dear Delys and Morgan,” Bertie exclaimed with a smile and twinned his moustache, “as much as I have rejoiced in visiting my birth commune, I intend to return to Vergen with you. I believe I can make myself a good life in the city - plus, I suspect poor Percy misses me terribly.”

I and Delys chuckled, but we silenced as Bertie’s expression turned serious.

“As you might imagine, all of the reasons why I left this place are still... Well, my mother…” he smiled crookedly. “You have met her after all. I love her, but she drives me mad.”

“Why did you leave the commune?” Delys asked in a kind whisper. 

He sighed. “Do you recall what I earlier said about us gnomes multiplying in great numbers? Well, this was never the case for me, as you are clever enough to derive. It is one of the reasons I left. My refusal to marry was not looked upon with sore eyes and it’s still causing me a bit of a headache.”

He smiled and opened his arms in a warm gesture. “Plus, I wouldn’t wish to separate from you, dear Delys, dear Morgan. During these past weeks, I have come to care for you as if you were my first cousins - no, sisters. I -”

His next words muffled against Delys’ arm. We flung ourselves on our knees and embraced him, this beautiful gnome we had come to love like our own family member. I longed to present him to Yanis, after this whole curious ordeal with the river monster was over.

*

The trip back to Vergen took us a week. We climbed the cliff that marked that last obstacle before the Makaham gates when Delys stopped and heaved her chest in a great sigh. Tears glittered in her eyes.

The sight of her sloping shoulders strengthened my resolve. I had to make her happy again.

“Delys, once we had made it back to the city, I’ll leave to search for Shioned. She can’t have ventured far.”

She flinched from surprise, mouth open.

“But - the sawmill? The key?”

“It can wait. I’ll find her, I promise.”

She nodded, swallowing in a great gulp at my words. I reached out to squeeze her hand.

Dwarves and humans left and entered the gates in pairs or alone, carrying baskets of wares or carts of stock. From the hill overlooking the city walls, Delys stopped mid-step, staring at the opening of gates. Bertie crooned a gnomish tune from his mule but halted at her expression.

From the gates strode three elves; the dark-haired Ciaran and Ele’yas, together with an elf with - copper red hair...

Delys threw her packing from her back and ran. Shioned met her with open arms. They embraced with an unabashed passion that prompted a few embarrassed laughs from passers-by.

We approached the couple. Tears clouded my eyesight.

“I knew you would come back.” Delys words muffled against Shioned’s neck. “I knew it.”

“I never should have left,” the elf answered, “I’m sorry. I’ll never leave again.”

Their lips met in another tear-filled kiss.

“What a lovely scene,” Bertie sighed. Ele’yas chuckled, and Ciaran raised an amused eyebrow at my sister and her lover before he greeted us.

“Caed’mil, dyfirg, Bertie.”

We greeted him. Shioned let go of Delys but kept an arm around her waist.

“I’m glad to see you all again.”

“And we are glad to see you!” Bertie greeted her with his signature grin. “Come, elven sister, and lead us into town, where we can eat and drink, and hear about where you have been during your absence.”

“I never got far from Vergen,” Shioned answered as we entered the gates, hand holding Delys’ “to Asheberg, the furthest. That’s where Iorweth found me and told me to return to Vergen.”

I stopped flat as if struck by lightning.

“Iorweth?”

“Yes, two days ago. He told me to wait for your return.”

“Where is he now?” I didn’t manage to raise my voice beyond a whisper.

Ele’yas tried to hide his snicker in a cough.

“I don’t know," Shioned answered, "he didn’t say where he planned to go.”

*

For two weeks, we waited for Iorweth’s return, idle and restless. We had no idea when he would come back or where he was, but through an unspoken understanding, we stayed in the city. All occupied their time and hands with various tasks. I spent days practising my aim with the bow or my circus acts, finding it difficult to concentrate on either activity. Through catching trouts and skinning foxes, I earned some coin.

Shioned and Delys vanished into their apartment for days. Ele’yas and Ciaran took it easy, resting by the day and playing dice by night in the Cauldron.

Spring arrived in glory the Pontar Valley. The sun warmed the lands and sprouted flowers and herbs, the trees blossomed and flourished. The sound of the cuckoo echoed through the air each midday and migrating birds returned to feast on awakened insects. One day, the bright brimstone butterfly fluttered across the market square, the unmistakable sign of summer approaching.

We all rented apartments in the elven area of the city where Bertie and I shared his room. I came to enjoy the nights where he made us a meal to enjoy by the hearth. He knitted or prepared hides, chatting idly from his position on the armchair. I either did my stretch program to keep my muscles lean or occupied my hands by letting Bertie teach me gnomish tailoring techniques.

After a few days of honeymooning, Delys and Shioned joined us, and we spent our nights in pleasant camaraderie.

Percival often came to visit us. Each time he entered our door Bertie exclaimed “and here comes darling Percy!” to which the poor dwarf always blushed so hard I was surprised his ears didn’t catch fire. He sat with us in reverent silence, holding Bertie’s yarn in his hands and listening to the gnome’s tirades all night with a warm spark in his eye.

One afternoon, I carefully asked Bertie if he perchance was aware of Percival’s feelings for him? The gnome replied with a heartfelt chuckle and a twist to his moustache, assuring that yes, of course, he knew that dear Percy was smitten.

About to ask him if they were a couple, I silenced when a knock on the door reverberated in the room. To both our surprise, Shioned stepped in and greeted us.

“Berthold,” she said, “I’d like to speak to Morgan in private if you don’t mind.”

The gnome hummed and left. I remained, stunned from the elf’s request. She sat beside me by the table, her copper hair shining from the light of the tallow candles.

“Morgan,” she ventured, her words hesitant, “when Iorweth found me, he spoke to me about you. I’ve been unsure whether to tell you, but he didn’t urge me _not_ to speak to you, so…

I pinched a leftover piece of bread on the table to crumbs.

“Oh?”

“Look, I’ve known Iorweth for what you humans would consider a long time. I’ve never seen him like this. You have to understand, that by caring for you, Iorweth is forced to question everything he knows about himself - everything he is.”

I clenched my jaw and flicked a crumb on the surface of the table. “Thank you, I know about the self-contempt he endures for - for caring for me. I’m sure his feelings will cool down soon enough, reluctant as they are.”

I lifted my gaze to the roof not to reveal the burn behind my lids. Shit.

Shioned regarded me for a few heartbeats, scrutinizing my face. Outside, a woman yelled at a barking dog to be quiet and a child giggled in response. 

“What are your feelings for him?”

How to answer that question? I stopped fidgeting and flicked my gaze to hers. 

“I don’t know,” I whispered. 

She nodded and let another moment's silence envelop us. 

“Iorweth asked me of my love for Delys, and what it meant for me.”

I tilted my head in wonder. I’ve wanted to ask her about her infatuation with my sister ever since we climbed the Makaham. 

“That day we met - why did you save her?”

She blushed. “I acted on instinct. I’m tired of seeing men attack girls. I guess I’ve never despised human women as I do human men. They seem different.”

“You fell for her so easily...”

“Not at first. But the more she proved herself to be caring… I tried to deny it, but it was impossible. Her character is so clear, devoid of everything I’ve wanted to get away from for long; cruelty, deception.... ugliness. I’m not talking about her looks.”

I snorted softly. “She is the opposite of those things.”

“She is. Even so, when Iorweth convinced me to leave her after you returned from the sawmill, I did, because of everything I’ve been taught. Because of how I’ve learned to understand myself.”

Shioned’s blush deepened. “Every step from Vergen was torture. She is a dh’oine, I an Aen Seidhe - but what does that matter when she is all I want? I’m not saying us being together will be easy, but it is right.”

I had to take a deep inhale to utter the sentiment that weighed my heart.

“It’s not exactly the same between me and Iorweth…”

“Maybe not, but… there is something - right?”

I stared at my hands that rested on the table. What was Iorweth to me? A hand fisting my shirt, eyes narrowing in contempt - _I should have known you would be too weak to act._ An offered waterskin, glances of reluctant interest, of amusement. A worried spark in his eye at the sight of the blood that ran down my forehead. I recalled the concentration written on his face as he listened to me speak, his smile at my story of the pet nekker, his hand grasping mine on the furs…

If anyone handed out a prize for the person most adept at breaking her own heart, I would surely crush all competition.

Shioned sighed and rose to leave.

“All I’m asking is, don’t close your heart. Give him - and yourself - time.”

*

The next day, Percival entered our apartment to tell us that people had spotted Iorweth approaching the city with another person. My heart did a little flip. I ran up to the battlements to scout the incoming travellers. At the sight of Iorweth in his typical, long tunic and red headband, his bow on his back, a sentiment I didn’t wish to name made grew like vines in my chest. My heart rate sped up and my cheeks flushed. I squinted to better outline the person beside him. To my surprise, it was a human, a man with a cart pulled by a mule...

I gasped and released the grip of the city walls to run down the stairs to the bailey, towards the gates and through them, shouting on top of my lungs,

“Yanis!”

His beard was longer and his face leaner than before, but it was him. I ran to the man that had replaced my birth father in my heart and threw my arms around him as tears flowed down our cheeks.

“Morgan,” he laughed, “Morgan, my big little otter. Goddess, I was so afraid I’d never see you again!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in unloving memory of that time I took a morning-after pill, fainted, hit my forehead in the bathroom sink and woke up later with a bump the size of a tennis ball on my head. 
> 
> “Feeling worse than a mangy dog” is a quote by Emhyr var Emreis in the Lady Of The Lake. 
> 
> I headcanon Bertie as asexual and wrote a scene where he contemplates on what this means for his relationship to Percival. After the advice of a friend, I chose not to include it. I don’t identify as asexual, and I believe representation is best done by those who identify as any kind of sexuality themselves.
> 
> Caed’mil - greetings.


	13. Chapter 13

I entered the Makaham gates by Yanis’ side, light from joy. Holding on to his arm, I leaned my head on his shoulder and relished in his familiar scent. Madam let out a snort when I patted her coarse fur, happy to see her.

Although I didn’t acknowledge Iorweth in favour of greeting my father, I was acutely aware of him silently sauntering behind us.

We entered the main gate of the city when Delys caught up with us. She ran from Rhudundrin’s square with her arms open and flung herself into the arms of our father.

“Delys,” he laughed through tears, “my little cat. Thank the Goddess!”

I joined Shioned and Bertie to observe the scene, happiness radiating in my heart. Iorweth continued towards the elven area. His gaze lingered on me for a heartbeat, burning my skin.

“Oh, what a beautiful reunion,” Bertie sighed with a grin. He continued in a whisper not to disturb them. “Is it a common trait among humans to call their daughter’s ‘cat’?”

I chuckled and whispered in turn. “No, it’s because -” I hesitated, unsure how to turn a long story short. “As a child, Delys was jealous because Yanis and mother called me otter and demanded we call her ‘cat’.”

“And why did they give you such a nickname? Was it because of your proficiency in swimming?”

“Yes, but also… When Yanis met my mother, I refused to let another man take my birth father’s place. Like a real brat, I told him he wasn’t my father whenever he tried to parent me. Instead of tanning my hide as I deserved, he asked me if I wished to be his otter instead of his daughter. In the Kaedweni dialect, the two words sound alike. Yanis always had the best reactions to my tantrums. I’ve been his little otter ever since.”

“Hah! How lovely - and how curious the elves have given you the same epithet!”

My smile died. Curious indeed.

Delys let go of her embrace of Yanis, grabbed Shioned’s hand and motioned her forwards.

“Papa, this is Shioned. She is my love.”

Just like that, I thought, stupefied. For Delys, it was just as easy as that. Shioned’s complexion turned pink, Yanis stood rooted on the spot. For a few awkward moments, all stared at each other in silence.

“I remember,” Yanis spoke in a voice stale from emotion. “Back in Ellander - you saved her. Delys would have died if not for you.” Yanis took a step forward and grabbed Shioned’s hand. “I owe you my daughter’s life.”

Delys beamed at her father and her lover.

I motioned to them. “Let’s water Madam by the stables and get you something to eat. We have so much to tell you.”

*

Delys, Yanis and I stepped into Dely’s and Shioned’s apartment in the elven area. Yanis cast admiring glances around, praising dwarven architecture and their ingenious ventilation system.

Stopping at the single bed, he frowned at the sight of the Shioned’s garments on it.

“Delys, are you and the elf sharing quarters?” He turned to me. “Did you let them?”

“Yanis…”

“No,” he interrupted me and faced my sister, “Delys, it’s unacceptable that you live with someone you’re not related to - or not married to.”

“I’d marry Shioned in a heartbeat, papa.” Delys held her chin high. “You know these lands forbid interracial marriages… and marriages between women.”

Yanis’ shoulders slouched in defeat.

“My youngest daughter living with a Scoia’tael elf. This is a bit much for me to take in...”

Delys patted his shoulder. “She’s not a Scoia’tael anymore. We’ll tell you everything.”

During the next hour, I and Delys went through the happenings of the last weeks. Yanis paled at the news of the failed attack on Vergen and asked repeated questions about the dragon. When I told him of the monster in the waters outside of the sawmill, he gained a sudden pallor and placed a hand over his heart. We rushed forward to support him.

“By Melitele’s tits,” he whispered, “A monster killed Vivi and the others? A river monster?”

“Felicia - the sorceress that sells magical items at the market square - she believes it's magically transformed. She has promised to help us.”

“But why did it attack the mill?”

“We’re not sure. There’s a chance the monster was transformed by accident. Felicia told us it happens a lot at her school of magic. It might have targeted us because… Because someone didn’t like us running the mill the way we did.”

Yanis nodded at my words, eyes fastened on the weaved rug on the floor.

“I’m glad Iorweth found me. I want my revenge on whatever destroyed the sawmill and killed my wife and my friends. To have peace of mind…”

“Papa,” I tried not to swallow my words, “How - where did he find you?”

“In Eysenlaan, on my way to Asheberg. I found your note in Dorndal and traced you as far as the Makaham. I crossed the mountains by the trade route from Carrerras. I figured I had to get back to the sawmill if I wanted to find you.”

He snorted.

“As you can imagine, I swore and shouted when he found me, cursed him and his family back to the creation of the world. He refused to fight. He told me he had come to take me to Vergen where you both waited. What could I do but follow him?”

Yanis cast me a proud, warm gaze.

“You bargained with him. I’m glad. You always were sensible, Morgan. I’m sorry you had to lose the key to save your sister’s life.”

“The key was never mine,” I answered, fidgeting with the edge of a tablecloth, “Iorweth claims it belongs to the elves, and - he’s right.”

Yanis brushed his palms in a contemplative gesture before he turned to my sister.

“Delys, I wish to speak to Morgan alone. We’ll meet you later outside, ok?”

My sister nodded and left with an undecipherable expression on her face.

After she closed the door behind her, Yanis uttered the words that caused a torrent of embarrassment in my chest.

“Morgan, did something happen between you and him?”

The floor sunk beneath me. Should I lie? Tell him the truth? What was the truth, anyway?

“What makes you say that?” My gaze flickered from the floor to his face.

“I’m not a fool. I’ve seen smitten men before. He doesn’t even try to hide it - he said he admires you.”

“He did?” I whispered, a flash of heat running through my guts. Face hot like coal, I found nothing more to say.

Yanis let out his hands in a reassuring gesture.

“I don’t mean to put you on the spot. You were brought up a certain way, weren’t you? Vivianne would probably be joyed had she lived… but -”

I held my breath.

“I’ve seen too many elves treat humans like playthings. Women are nothing but entertainment to elven men. I guess our different life spans make any union between us difficult. Not to mention our history. Do you know of any successful elven-human couple? I don’t want you to be used. I hope it’s different for elven women…”

My heart transformed into a shard of ice that threatened to slide out of my sleeve. Yanis was right. There was no precedence to guide me, no examples of successful love stories between elves and humans. Lara Dorren and Cregennan of Lod? Whose deaths sparked another war between the races...

I tried to smile.

“Iorweth wants the key. We want the mill. We can help each other kill the monster. That’s all it is, papa.”

The words rasped at my insides.

“That’s great.” Yanis stood and squeezed my arm. “A temporary agreement for the benefit of all. Let us go. I want to see more of how Vergen has changed since the last time we were here.”

Strangely heavy in heart, I followed him.

We met with Delys, Shioned and Bertie by the Cauldron. Percival soon joined us and we rejoiced in presenting our friends to our father. Yanis got caught up in conversation with the others when Delys took my arm. She motioned me from the table in a semblance to order more ale from the counter.

“So?” Her eyes shone with curiosity.

“So, what?” I whispered.

“Did you speak to Yanis about Iorweth?”

I groaned. My sister didn’t understand my confusion. I was still angry with Iorweth for confessing his admiration for me by implying it was the worst thing to ever happen to him but above all, Yanis’ words pinched my heart.

“Delys, what do you want me to say? Things aren’t as simple between us as they are between you and Shioned…”

My sister pursed her lips.

“Iorweth was an ass, I know. But he’s trying to make things right! Can’t you see that? Morgan, I’ve seen the way he looks at you… You have to speak to him.”

I flushed. “Delys, he only wants the key...” I didn’t know why I said it, because a part of me didn’t believe my own words. Another part, like a small sylvan on my shoulder, whispered insecurities in my ear.

My sister stomped her foot on the floor from frustration.

“You are as stubborn as Madam! If you don’t speak to Iorweth about what happened, I will do it myself!”

I darted a worried gaze to our table and nipped her in the side, eliciting a small yelp from her.

“You utter one word to him and I’ll wring your arm!” I hissed.

She shook her head in anger. The door opened, and Shioned and Ele’yas stepped in, joining the others and greeting our father. I cast continuous glances towards the door of the tavern, but Ciaran and Iorweth didn’t join us. I wasn’t sure if I were relieved or disappointed.

*

The next day, I washed my clothes and was inspecting my tunic for broken seams when Iorweth stepped into the apartment. I nearly dropped the garment on the floor. Why had he come?

He closed the door, a tinge of hesitation in his eye.

“Your sister said you wished to speak to me.”

Oh Delys, you little scheming cat… I gave an air of being unsurprised. Perhaps it was best to play along - until I found her.

I cleared my throat, placed the tunic on the bed and smoothed the fabric of my shirt on my hips.

“Yes, I wanted to thank you for finding our father and bringing him to Vergen… And for finding Shioned.”

A sensation of rightness filled me. I wished to express my gratitude, my sister wasn’t so stupid after all.

He nodded in recognition and crossed his arms. “Are you feeling better?”

At first, I didn’t understand what he was talking about - until the ducat dropped. Bertie or Delys must have told him I passed out at the gnomish commune.

Face warming, I answered I was fine and that it was nothing. Iorweth took a few steps until he came close enough for the scent of leather to reach my senses. My pulse quickened.

“I’m too old to have children," he muttered, "you didn’t have to do that to yourself.“

Blushing harder, I was lost for words. My mind conjured ideas of proper punishment for my gossiping sister. Smearing rosehip in her dress?

Iorweth lifted a gloved hand and pulled a strand of my hair behind my ear. My lips parted on their own volition and a warm, heavy sensation settled in my stomach.

His fingers caressed my jaw. “What I did - it was for you,” he muttered, “only for you.”

I met his gaze, torn between a euphoric wish to throw myself in his arms, and a nagging confusion at the back of my head. _A filthy dh’oine_. I swallowed.

“Iorweth…”

“Do you still feel the way you did in Kaedwen - before we parted?” His eye burned.

Yanis words echoed painfully in my head. I shifted on my feet. Did _he_ feel the same way? Wanting me against his will? These acts of care, did they mean he regretted his words? How could I make sense of all of this?

“There’s so much I don’t know about you…”.

“Ask.”

Blinking, I found myself void of questions. What did I wish to know besides how he made me feel, standing this close, touching me like I was a prized possession?

Frantically, I tried to not let my vagina do my thinking for me.

“Where did you spend your childhood?”

It wasn’t the most urgent question I wished to ask him, but it was a start.

“In the land you humans call Redania. There used to be a large elven community in Ghelibol.”

“What is your full name?”

“Iorweth aep Eiranwen.”

“That’s beautiful,” I whispered, overcome by a light sensation that filled my heart like feathers.

“What’s yours?”

I smiled. “Morgan Wylde.”

“Wylde. It suits you.”

The smile he returned died to a raw expression that made my heart cramp. His hand grasped my arm.

“There’s something I -”

A loud banging on the door made me jump. Iorweth swore silently and turned. Felicia Cori stepped in but stopped at the scene before her.

“Oh! I’m sorry, but - you’ll want to hear what I’ve found!”

*****

All gathered in Felicia’s small room in the human district. The room smelled of ink and the distinct notes of Felicia’s verbena soap. My skin still heated from Iorweth’s touch, and it didn’t help that he stood pressed to my side by the table. Felicia cast me a smile with an arched eyebrow as we entered her quarters but made no comment.

A book with intricate writing in Elder Speech lay spread on her table.

“This is it.” She pointed to a drawing of an animal with several tentacles and a balloon shaped head. “The octopus. It makes sense; they lack bones, which makes them easier to magically alter than other types of animals. This means I’m certain the river monster is enchanted - and that I have a chance at dispelling it! I only need the right incantation…”

“You better find it, _daerienn_. Morgan will only have a few minutes to fetch the key from the river if we manage to distract the monster.”

“Wait, what?” Yanis exclaimed, red in the face. “My daughter is not risking her life to get you the key! She’s pointed out where it is, that should be enough!”

“Yanis.” I inhaled to steel myself for the task of calming my father. “You know I’m best suited for this. Mother hid the key in the river because she knew I -”

“No. If anyone goes into that river, it’s me.”

Despite my growing desperation, I let out a faint laugh. “Papa, you can’t swim.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

The atmosphere in the room tensed. I observed the pain and fear in my father’s eye, wishing to give in to the impulse of assuring him, but no -

I steeled my resolve.

“I want our sawmill back. I can get that key - and I will, with or without your permission. This is my decision, my part to play. I won’t run the lands like a smuggler anymore. Not one more day.” I put emphasis on the last words, feeling their weight in my heart.

Chest heaving, Yanis regarded me in silence before he turned to Felicia with a pained expression, index finger raised. “You better find a way to shrink that monster.” His voice broke into a high pitch.

“I will,” she assured. “Don’t worry. The octopus will die before she finds the key.”

Delys embraced Yanis. I joined them, ignoring how the others shifted from embarrassment over witnessing our scene.

“We should find as many shellfish and crabs we can get out hands on immediately,” Iorweth said. “It’s time to kill that monster.”

*

Three days later, we marched through the forest towards the mill. Yanis held Madam by the reins. She pulled a cart full of fish, scallops, prawns and crabs, covered by a cloth to keep the gulls from stealing our lure.

The stench was like nothing I had experienced before.

Felicia assured the monster wouldn’t mind if the lure wasn’t on the minute. During the days when we fished and sought and bought all the shellfish we could find, she locked herself into her room. Occasional sparks of yellow and purple zinged through the frame of her door, causing the dogs to Vergen to whimper and tuck their tails between their legs.

After a few days, she claimed she was ready. We headed out towards the mill immediately.

We made camp a mile from the mill on the other side of the Lixela and dumped our lure in a crevice into the cliffs. The distance was close enough to attract the monster but far enough to give me time to find the key - we hoped.

It was a perfect day for the mission. The sun shone through occasional, high clouds and the air hovered still, only breached by the buzz of an occasional dragonfly. Nature held her breath in concert with our task.

We set up a tent by the river bank to confer on our plan. All dedicated to finding the key - my family, the former Scoia’tael members, Felicia, Percival and Bertie - gathered inside.

Bertie, Felicia and Percival would keep an eye out for the monster by the lure. The elves, Yanis and Delys would stand guard by the river if the monster managed to escape Felicia’s spells and attacked. I dived for the key.

All we had to do was to wait for the monster to arrive. Felicia, Bertie and Percival stepped outside the tent together with elves - except for Iorweth.

Yanis made a confused noise as Delys pushed him out with determination.

Iorweth and I regarded each other in silence. The sun shone through the small holes in the fabric of the tent and landed on his shoulders. My breath caught in my lungs at the sight.

“This is it,” he said.

“This is it.” I swallowed. After this, we were supposed to part and never meet again. A few weeks ago, the thought would have relieved me. Today, that thought had turned on its head to be absurd and I didn’t know how to express the sentiment. 

He took a step closer. “Don’t do anything stupid.” His gaze softened. “Like getting hurt.”

At that moment, I dared to believe he cared for me, and not only because of the key.

“I don’t make that promise unless you do.”

He snorted softly. “I’m not the one about to jump into the river with a giant, magical slug.”

“Octopus.”

“Whatever.” He uncrossed his arms and took another step and caress my cheek. The skin on my arms broke out in goose bumps from the sensation. We locked gazes, momentarily lost for words.

I need to tell him, I thought, he needs to know...

“Iorweth…”

“Morgan…”

I smiled at our stumbling and inhaled to speak again when Ele’yas peeked into the opening of the tent.

“The monster. It’s approaching our lure.”

He was unusually pale.

I met Iorweth’s gaze, pulse quick from the rush of adrenaline. We didn’t have a minute to lose.

*

Everyone rushed to the posts. Yanis embraced me, breathing words of how much he loved me and how I needed to be careful. He took a position by the bank of the river, my crossbow in his hand. I wore the light leather pants Bertie had made me and a linen shirt, sewn tight to not hinder me in the waters.

I kicked off my boots and took one, two, three long, deep inhales before I dived from the cliff. All sounds vanished but the watery gurgle of the river. Bubbles erupted as I breached the surface and swam towards the mill, arms pistoning the waters in a crawl.

I was certain my mother hid the key inside a box by the great willow that loomed over the Lixela just outside her office. She often rested under its branches, gazing into the glitter of the river. I reached the roof of silvery leaves hanging down from the tree and treaded water by the surface. Taking a few more deep breaths, I dived.

The best part of diving was the reduction of noise. As a child, I escaped the shrill of the saw blade, the whacks of the axes and the constant, dry buzz of the hand saws by immersing myself in the waters. Each time, I challenged the capacity of my lungs to stay in longer and longer.

This moment gave no peace of mind. My nervous state reduced my ability to stay submerged for long. With a few wide breaststrokes, I reached the dwindling base of the river bed and searched the halls of the willow’s roots. I had to breach the surface to take a few more breaths and dive again, trying my best to check the swelling of panic in my chest. I didn’t have many attempts before it was too late.

In my fourth dive, my fingers grazed the outline of a rectangular shape, covered in seaweed. I smiled in recognition and triumph - it had to be mother’s chest! Calculating I didn’t need more air to get it up, I heaved and tugged to release the box from the grasp of the root system. It came loose in a cloud of whirling sand. I kicked, lungs and muscles aching until I breached the surface. Gulping for air, I swam on my back with the chest in my hands.

I pulled it on land in front of the broken edifice with the two great saw bills where Iorweth and I had fled from the monster a few weeks ago. Euphoric, I waved towards the other side of the river and received a greeting from Yanis.

My heart soared; the plan had worked! Everything had gone perfectly! Felicia must have transformed the monster by the bait. My mind faintly registered that Delys and Shioned weren’t beside Yanis, but my curiosity took the upper hand. I turned all my attention to the chest.

I shouldn’t open it...

Grabbing a large stone, I cracked the lock with a few thrusts and opened the chest, heart racing.

Inside it lay a square box, carved from cherry into a tiny town with city walls, a church, a marketplace and miniscule residential houses. A wave of childhood memories washed over me at once, making me grin and ache at the same time. I caressed the small-scaled windows of a house, carved with a squared pattern, perceiving the sound of people yelling…

Awoken from my reverie, I snapped my head towards the river. The monster slipped from the waters towards me in a slithering sound, knocking over a tree in its way. All the blood in my head rushed down to my feet. The stench of fish and scallops overwhelmed me; my stomach flipped. A few arrows landed in its soft flesh, shot from the other side of the river, but it didn’t so much as flinch.

The box in my hands, I ran and jumped from a thrashing tentacle that hit the mill and sent splinters raining over my head. The monster emitted a gurgling wail. My mind shut down all thoughts but the adrenaline-filled wish to survive. I ran behind the next building and screamed as another tentacle mauled the wood above my head.

I turned to determine the distance between us. The monster lifted its front tentacles to reveal a huge, red beak, sharp like razor blades. The sight turned my muscles into jelly.

I wasn’t going to end up in that maw. Not when I was so close to achieving everything I wanted... Jumping from the blow of another tentacle, I ran towards another derelict house to hide.

The monster let out a shrill yelp; I peeked behind the wall to see an arrow pierce its large eye. It bellowed and trashed and aimlessly, destroying what was left of the old sawmill into nothing but crumbles of planks and dust. The two saw blades fell to the ground and rolled towards the river in a shrill sound.

Time stopped at the sight. Mother’s enterprise was beyond salvation. All was lost...

I snapped my gaze to the river. A red headband approached in the upset waves, gloved hands breached the waters in a crawl.

No.

The monster screeched and slid with the speed of a running horse towards the river. It disappeared under the surface. Shouts and screams echoed from the other side.

_Nonononono._

I threw the box on the grass and sprinted. I reached the waters when the monster appeared beside Iorweth and lifted a tentacle.

I dived. I had never swum so fast in my life. In front of me, a blur of hazy green waters mixed with the hasty movements of meaty tentacles and - Goddess, no - a cloud of blood.

I searched for Iorweth with no plan on how to escape the monster, driven by urgency, when a loud fizz split the waters in bright, pink light. It enveloped the monster and shook it in convulsing spasms. Its screech pierced my ears.

My hand found the cloth of a tunic. I pulled and hooked my arms into his armpits, kicking my legs. Every muscle in my body ached, my lungs ached, my heart about to explode…

Clouded by sweat and water, my eyes barely registered Felicia, standing on the cliff with her arms stretched, chanting a spell that radiated from her palms. The octopus quivered and screamed until it shrank, so fast it happened in mere seconds, to an animal no longer than my arm. It landed in the waters with a splash.

The sandy banks of the river rasped my naked feet. I pulled Iorweth to land with my last ounce of strength. Falling on my knees beside him, I panted and called his name, grabbing his shoulders.

He moaned and opened his eye. A powerful rush of relief rasped a mix of sob and laugh from my throat.

Coughing, he turned to vomit a gulp of water onto the sand. Shaking from the adrenaline rush, I let him roll back to place his head on my arm.

He bled from a cut in his shoulder, a bruise formed on his face. I didn’t know much about treating wounds, but a gash in his thigh had to be the most urgent injury. I sat and pressed hard to stop the blood flow. He groaned but searched for my gaze.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t save the sawmill,” he croaked.

“Shh, don’t speak.”

“Morgan…”

“Iorweth, I don’t care about the ploughing mill -”

I gaped at the sincerity of the emotion. The sawmill meant nothing in comparison to him. The revelation sent a powerful rush of tenderness through my heart.

The others ran towards us.

I caressed Iorweth’s cheek, my vision blurred from tears. “Please, hold on,” I said, voice quivering, “We’re going to take you away from here. You’re going to be ok.”

Nothing could have prepared me for his next words.

“I led the Scoia’tael unit that burned your village.” His face tensed from pain, teeth gritted. “I killed your father. Squaess’me.”

It was like a great pillar of ice fell and crashed inside me. I blinked, mouth open in bewilderment. Yanis reached us and grabbed me by the arms to pull me back. Delys and Felicia threw themselves at Iorweth's side, pulling out bandages and instruments to bind his wounds.

I backed from him, eyes wide and heart shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Octopus art by the talented [Opheliathemoth](https://instagram.com/mothball_doodles?igshid=1v9rd97afx069)!
> 
> Iorweth’s full name and upbringing are headcanons. 
> 
> “Stop thinking with your vagina” is a quote by Philippa Eilhart in TW2 (speaking to Triss).
> 
> “I don’t make that promise unless you do” is what Hawke says (blue option) to Fenris before the final quest in Dragon Age 2. 
> 
> Squaess’me - forgive me.


	14. Chapter 14

Yanis retrieved the box before we all helped to place Iorweth on an improvised stretcher made from poles and clothes. We carried him as far as the Lixela allowed for ship traffic and travelled to Vergen by boat. Percival had received a blow from the monster by our lure, Shioned and Bertie supported him, dizzy but alive, onto the boat.

Well in town, he and Iorweth were tended to by Delys and the local barber-surgeon. I climbed into my quarters, exhausted. Yanis helped me warm a pail of water to clean the worst of mud and blood from my skin and brewed me a hot mug of tea.

After washing up, I stumbled into bed and fell asleep despite the thoughts and emotions that ran rampage in my head.

The next morning, Delys approached me with a bowl of oatmeal porridge for breakfast.

“How are you feeling?”

I sighed from my position on my bed, eyes staring into the air. All my muscles ached. On the inside, I was as broken as our sawmill.

She sat beside me.

“Iorweth kept mumbling all night despite the sedatives. He repeated your name.”

I placed my head in my hands with a low groan.

“What are you going to do?” My sister whispered.

“I don’t know,” I whined behind my fingers, “I need to be alone for a while and... think.”

She caressed my shoulder. “Don’t you want to know how he is?”

A flash of pain wrung my heart. I lowered my hands and nodded.

“He has a pair of broken ribs. The cut in his thigh is deep but the muscle is intact. He’s been vomiting because of the toxin, despite the Astera potion, but he will be ok. If you wish, you can speak to him tonight.”

I thanked her and rose out of the bed to leave.

*

Overlooking the Pontar by the cliff, I sat with my arms around my knees, staring into the glitter of the river surface. The warmth of the sun and the happy chatter of goldfinches above my head contrasted to the coldness of my thoughts.

I wiped a tear from my cheek, aching from the cruel twist of faith that led me into the arms of the elf that killed my father. If this was a result of the Goddess’ sense of humour, I found it to be of bad taste.

My heart bled from the insurmountable deeds both men and elves had committed against each other, deeds that dug a chasm between the races. I didn’t wish to be part of it, but inescapably, we all were, helplessly and cruelly caught in the currents of past events.

It all seemed so hopeless.

The sound of feet carefully approaching didn’t surprise me. When I sensed my father was close enough to hear my words, I spoke.

“Yanis, please tell me about my birth father. Mother never told anything, even when I asked. Don’t coddle me.”

He sat beside me with a sigh, picked up a white anemone and twisted it between his fingers.

“Vivianne was very young when she had you - younger than Delys is now. It wasn’t a marriage of love. Your father was… not a kind man. He worked for the commandant and often stayed at the brothel. He was rumoured to have killed an elven prostitute.”

He sent me a tight-lipped, compassionate gaze and stroked my back. “I’m sorry.”

Waves a pain travelled through me. As a child, I made up romanticised images of my father, how he was kind, handsome, and just. My mother’s refusal to speak of him rang a warning bell, but I never listened to it. I was an idiot.

I wiped another tear from my face. “Is that why the Scoia’tael decided to punish an entire village? Because of one man’s crime?”

Yanis sighed. “I don’t know. Your father was never convicted for the murder because our laws turn a blind eye to non-humans. It was one of the reasons Vivianne and I left Flotsam.”

“Mother told me she didn’t believe the rumours that non-humans burned our village.”

“Well, for all we knew, it _was_ an accident. The blacksmith was a terrible drunk and people blamed non-humans for everything. I’m sorry to say that she was wrong.”

He turned his head and observed me with a wrinkle between his eyebrows that slowly smoothened.

“Morgan, this situation is twisted, and I understand if you are confused and lost. But I can tell you have feelings for Iorweth. Before the whole event by the sawmill, I wasn’t sure about his motivations. Seeing him plunge into those waters to save you… Only someone who cares deeply would risk their life like that.”

My heart cramped; it hurt, but not in a bad way.

“I never thought I would see elves risk their lives for humans,” he muttered, “and now I’ve seen it twice. Tell me one thing,” he turned to look me in the eye, “how did you feel when the monster attacked him?”

I swallowed, unable to speak. How to put the sensation of terror into words? The near out-of-body moment of fear so strong it froze your heart to ice?

“I was so afraid,” I whispered.

Yanis stroked my arm. “Maybe that is all you need to know right now, otter.”

*

I carefully opened the door to Iorweth’s quarters and stepped in, box in my hands. He lay on his bed, his frame illuminated by a few lit candles. A purple bruise coloured his cheek and a large bandage covered his midriff. The plaid over his legs concealed the sewn gash to his thigh.

Heart full, I approached him as if walking on eggshells. He sat up halfway with a small grimace of pain and regarded me silently. The sheen of sweat on his temples told me he still had a fever.

“How are you feeling?” I asked softly.

He glinted a curt, lopsided smile. “Like I’ve been mauled by a giant, magical slug.”

I snorted. “Octopus.”

We smiled. The atmosphere stilled from unexpectedly jovial to delicate and brittle.

I placed the box on a shelf beside me and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing him.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I whispered.

“I’ve thought about that question. The only answer is: because I was a jerk.”

I blinked at his sharp words.

“When you told me about your father, something… happened. For the first time, it wasn’t just another dh’oine I had killed. It was someone that mattered to you, and you would hate me for it. I didn’t want you to hate me. I tried to convince myself it was because I needed you to find me the key, but the more time I spent with you, the more obvious it became. I care for you. It turned everything I knew about myself upside down.”

He made a pause, the sharp jut of his throat bobbing. “It terrified me.”

I held my breath. I thought of him as afraid of nothing, but what could be more frightening than the loss of oneself?

“I could have died in the fire. It was only a stroke of luck that mother and I were away.”

He tensed his hands to fists at my words and switched weight on the bed. A silent groan of pain escaped him.

I latched my gaze into his, letting him know I wanted his complete honesty.

“If you had known me then like you know me now, would you still have done it?”

“You were just a child -”

“You know what I mean.”

“No.”

His brusque answer made me still. There was so much behind the word; an acknowledgement of how the path of violence between our races rested on how we avoided forging bonds to each other. Care was a dangerous emotion. It obliged you to see the perspective of the other. It meant that I had to see how the actions of elves often stemmed from how humans denied non-humans justice, equality, and dignity - not hate for hate’s sake.

The strained expression to his face made me fear the conversation was too much for him. He looked like I had punched him in the guts.

“I understand if you’ve come to tell me you never wish to see me again -”

“That’s not why I’ve come.”

He darted his gaze to me, searching for something, his eye radiating surprise and a spark of - hope?

“You don’t... Hate me?”

The sting of pain still remained, but it was overshadowed by a growing sense of steadfastness. Iorweth had committed cruel deeds, but he had also proven that he was capable of care, of compassion. I was standing at a crossroads at that moment, choosing a path to take.

My hands trembled, but I tried my best to ignore it.

“I hate everything that led to it. I hate that you did it, but... No. I can’t continue this cycle of hatred. I won’t.”

“What I did was clouded by hate, and want for revenge. Asking for your forgiveness doesn't change anything, but I -”

Without his previous “no”, I’m not sure what I would have replied. Only one answer held true to who I wished to be. For how I wished the world to be.

“I forgive you.”

A heavy silence fell like a cloth over the room. I didn’t know what to say, but a powerful impulse made me reach for his hand.

“You scared me, you idiot,” I whispered.

He laughed in a short exhale, a warm sound of incredulity. Another pregnant pause stretched between us where we let the silence speak instead of uttering more clumsy words. I glanced at the box, a small knot forming in my stomach. He followed my gaze and frowned.

I stood to grab the box on the shelf and returned to Iorweth’s side.

“I wanted you to be with me when I open this.”

He made a face of pain and moved closer to inspect the box.

“Is it a strongbox?”

“Yes.” I moved my fingers along the outlines of the roofs and terraces of the small city carved into the wood. “When my grandmother was still alive, she lost her eyesight from that disease that gives old people a milky iris, do you know which one?”

He nodded.

“My grandfather constructed these boxes as puzzles to give her a challenge; look.”

Iorweth’s eye widened as I found the first lock under the bell of the city tower.

“My grandmother taught me how to unlock her boxes. We used to compete over who could solve the puzzle first.” I closed my eyes, and with my fingertips, I searched for more tiny grapples and hooks that would reveal the inner core of the box. I found another under the delicately carved merchant’s stand at the tiny square of the city; it made a sproing sound as I loosened the hook.

“You know,” Iorweth said, eyebrow raised, “we could have just smashed it.”

“Iconoclast.” I gave him a mock angered glance before I closed my eyes again. I found the third and last hook by the small portcullis of the city walls. “Besides,” I opened my eyes as the wood of the box unfolded like a delicate flower to reveal a red core, “you couldn’t have smashed this.”

My lips fell open as I traced my name on the copper box. Did my mother or my grandfather engrave it? The lock to the inner box took a quarter of an hour to figure out; it wasn’t one of my grandfather’s more intricate puzzles.

Both of us held our breaths as I broke the last seal. The box opened without a sound. Inside it lay a letter but I ignored it in favour of the item that fell from its rolled-up confinement. A flower-shaped ruby, with four petals in a cross, landed in my palm. The stone shone like a ray of sun through blood, small enough to fit in my hand if I closed it.

“The key,” I whispered, “it _is_ a trinket.”

I tore my gaze from the ruby to Iorweth. He reached out his hand, mesmerized. I gave him the key without a word.

“Aép dearme am vis, teddan a’deallwaeth.” Iorweth breathed. He kept the key in his hand in silence, until he met my eyes and placed the trinket in my hand again.

“Take care of it for me - until I get better.”

*

I stepped out of his quarters and searched for my family, letter in my hand. I found them in the Cauldron with Bertie, Ele’yas and Ciaran, and bade Yanis and Delys come with me to our quarters.

Yanis asked me of Iorweth’s health. I nodded an affirmation with sincere relief in my heart.

“I’m glad,” my father said. He placed his hand on mine. “I’m sorry about the sawmill, otter.”

“I am too. I know it meant a lot to you -”

“Actually,” Yanis interrupted me with a snort of equal mirth and embarrassment, “I… never wanted the mill back as much as you did. It was always Vivianne’s project. I have no talent in running a business.”

Stunned, Delys and I stared at him, blinking.

“I never told you because you were always so adamant we get the mill back! It was your inheritance and your right. But - for me, I guess I never dreamed about running a sawmill. At least not without your mother.”

He met our eyes with a painful expression, swallowing hard. “I need to confess something to you both. I claimed the mill was haunted because I was too terrified to return. For long, I had the most awful nightmares. I couldn’t erase the image of all those dead people from my mind and the thought of returning always gave me a panic attack.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I was a coward.”

We sat next to him in silence. For years, all three of us were ridden by nightmares, but Yanis always kept a straight face, acting the strong father. He never exposed his hurt to us.

“It’s ok, Yanis,” Delys whispered. I concurred by placing my head on his shoulder.

By the Goddess. I had never pondered over what he wanted, nor of his pain, only assumed he wished to reclaim the mill as I did. A shameful warmth crept up my cheeks.

“Wha - what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t wish to live as a smuggler, there we agree. I enjoy building things. Perhaps Cecil Burdon will give me work as a mason?”

He grinned at us.

I exhaled in a defeated yet laughing sigh. “Everything’s turned upside down! We’ll have to figure out a whole new life for us.”

Delys snorted. “As long as we have each other.”

He squeezed our hands. “With the money I took from Arno, we don’t have to worry about starving for another few months, at least. Let us do something we haven’t done in years: let us just… be. Rest for a while. When autumn comes, we’ll figure something out.”

“I’d like that,” my sister sighed.

I beamed at him. With all that had happened in the last two months, to rest was all I wanted. But I had a mission. I retrieved the letter. Delys gasped; Yanis’ face softened in a mixed expression of pain and joy.

We opened the letter and read it together.

 _My dear, big little otter,_ it said.

Our gazes met, and we snorted in mutual laughter,

_I wonder where you are reading this. Are you old? Do you have children of your own? I will likely not be with you, and although I regret that, I know that we will meet again._

_This box holds a secret you must unfold, Morgan. The time of unity will not come on its own volition. When you face your fate, know that I trust you to act according to your heart._

_Take care of our little cat._

_Always your loving mother,_ _Vivianne Rowe_

_P.S. Contact the Vivaldi bank in Oxenfurt. I have a deposit there that might be of interest to the Borsodi auction house._

Yanis held the paper in his hands, caressing the ink as if the letters represented the flesh of my mother. At the post scriptum, he frowned and shook his head.

“Viv had a deposit in the Vivaldi bank? That woman was full of secrets.”

*

For the next few weeks, I often stayed at Iorweth’s side. I cared for him with the help of my sister and Bertie. Sage dwarves made occasional visits, sharing knowledge of healing rituals and herbs to burn to maximise health and vigour. After two weeks, Iorweth walked, but poorly, and needed a crutch for support.

I gave him meals, read him whatever books I could find, spoke of what happened outside his quarters. Driven by an urgent sense of importance, I stayed with him, unable to show my gratitude in words towards the fact that he hadn’t died. He was the first thing on my mind when I woke and the last when I lay my head on my pillow to sleep. The first time he was strong enough to join me and his brethren for a promenade to the edge of the forest, he smiled. My heart sang in tune with the blackbirds and the jays tweeting in branches above us.

Iorweth often searched my gaze. I had told him I didn’t hate him; he scanned my face as if wanting to know if I could also feel something more. At times, he carefully reached out and traced a line with his fingertips along the veins on my wrist. In those moments, I cared for nothing but the fact that I did care for him. We may have been tangled into the history of our races, but weren’t we more than that? Weren’t we also two people with their own, individual histories of hurt and care, mistakes and respect?

I wanted to think of us a such.

*

One day, Felicia knocked on the door of my sister’s apartment where I, Bertie, Yanis and Shioned were sharing a light supper. She stepped in with her eyes shining and face open in an expression that told me she had news.

“You’re all sitting down, good. You’re not going to believe what I’ve learned.”

All stared at her, our spoons hovering over our bowls of soup. She held a letter in her hands.

“I was curious about the river monster and who could have transformed it, so I sent a few letters around to old classmates from Aretuza. Today, this arrived from Kovir. I can’t tell you the name of the writer because she’ll get in trouble if this comes out.”

“By the Goddess, girl, tell us what you have found!”

Yanis grasped the linen table cloth.

Felicia gained a frown of worry. “You must remember these are merely rumours. What I’m about to tell you may not be true.”

All nodded, holding their breaths.

“So, about six years ago, a couple of shady types from Flotsam hired a student from the Ban Ard academy for a job. They wanted him to transform an animal to give a scare to a woman who ran a sawmill by the Lixela. Apparently, they had a problem with women who ran successful businesses.”

Yanis flinched, Delys put a hand on his but never tore her gaze from Felicia.

“They hired a student and not a real sorcerer because it was cheaper. Of course, everything went wrong. The mage student was inexperienced and used an incantation that transformed the animal into a huge, deadly monster. It killed the men who hired him and nearly himself before he managed to escape through a portal. He kept quiet about it all as it would make him a pariah in the mage community. Eventually, his guilty conscience made him confess to a friend, who told another friend… Who told me.”

She let her gaze wander around the table with an expression of compassion written on her face. “The Ban Ard boys always were second-rate fools… At least the idiots from Flotsam got what they deserved, right?”

Her attempt at lifting out spirits fell flat. A heavy silence spread in the room.

“It was a... prank?” I whispered, my fingers numb, “a stupid, cruel joke?”

Felicia's eyes turned glossy. “It seems so. I’m sorry.”

Delys rose and placed a hand on Felicia’s arm. “Thank you. We’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done.”

She burst into tears.

The chairs screeched against the floor as Shioned, Yanis, and Bertie ran to embrace her. Felicia also cried with her arm around my sister.

In the commotion, I left.

Sitting by the outlook gazing over the Pontar, I turned my head at a sound. Iorweth announced his presence through letting his boots crunch against the soil in an untypical way for an elf.

“I heard.”

He sat beside me, offering no more words.

I was overcome by a bright surprise that calmed into acceptance. Strangely, I didn’t mind him breaking my solitude. It felt right.

He was there with me.

*

Feiann, the high summer, arrived with a blessed warmth and prodigious verdure. Bertie gathered us for a celebratory picnic by the Pontar, serving cheese, bread, fresh scallops and wheat ale, brewed by Cecil Burdon himself.

Felicia joined us and recounted of her relief that day by the sawmill when she found the right spell to shrink the monster. Her mentor back at Aretuza would be so proud of her, she asserted with a grin.

The memory sent a cold shiver down my spine. Felicia caught my paled expression. As a way of apologizing for bringing such a frightful memory up, she told a story of how she once transformed a rabbit into a frog with teeth that bit her lecturer. The ordeal nearly had her expelled.

All chuckled. Percival spurted ale on the blanket from laughter and Bertie patted him on the back with a smile.

Ele’yas threw a piece of bread to the quacking canards in the river.

“I wonder what happened to the river monster?” He said, “we never killed it.”

“Octopi don’t live in freshwater, so that should effectively have killed it.” Felicia let out a tiny burp and adjusted her plush hat.

“Will we ever know who those men were - the ones who ordered it to be transformed?” Yanis murmured.

The atmosphere turned delicate; all gave him compassionate glances.

“Perhaps we never will,” Delys placed her hand on his shoulder, “we have to make peace with what happened. Let us live for today, not for yesterday.”

Yanis smiled faintly and nodded.

We ate and chatted in blessed communion. Trouts jumped for flies and breached the waters of the Pontar in large, expanding circles. When the sun descended, colouring the sky in a lively red hue, Felicia was tipsy enough to trip over Yanis and land with a squeal onto Ciaran. He caught her with a wolfish smile.

In the commotion, Iorweth asked in a low tone if I wished to take a stroll with him. Pulse quickening, I nodded. We took a flask of ale with us to share and traipsed towards the cliffs near the river, him still limping.

Ele’yas sent us a catcall. We ignored him.

Out of sight of the others, Iorweth stopped and gently reached out to wipe the moist of ale from my upper lip with his thumb. The watery, fresh scent of pond lilies surrounded us along with the buzz by a passing dragonfly.

My heart leapt up to my throat.

“Do you think you can find peace with what happened?” he asked.

I paused to think about how to answer that question. I should get on with my life, forgive and forget. Still, my chest burned from resentment at the thought of the men whose moronic sense of humour led to the death of my mother, of Efa, of all the workers.

“A part of me wishes they would have survived so I could have killed them myself,” I whispered.

My words sent a flash of icy pain through my body.

“I’m glad they died. The thought of you searching for those men, consumed by hate, killing them… I don’t want that for you. Hate turns you callous, hard. You are not that.”

It was a strangely beautiful thing to say. My heart expanded at the meaning of his words, of him finding my father, my sister’s lover, and his dive into those waters. At that moment, I wanted to live for today, not for yesterday. No revenge, no more hate. The sentiment warmed me to my core.

“Morgan.” Iorweth touched my hair, jaw clenched. “Do you still think of me as the last man you’d wish to be with?”

“I never meant it.” I put energy into the words, every fibre in me aware of how much they were true. “I said some awful things to you. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled a small laugh. “Don’t be. I believe I needed to hear it.”

I lowered my gaze to my hand that carefully grazed one of the insignias on his hauberk.

“Do you still hate yourself for - for wanting me?”

My cheeks burned at uttering the assumption he still felt the same, but this was not a moment for hesitation.

“No.” He shook his head to emphasise his word. “I never should have made you feel that way. ”

Hesitantly, seeking my consent with his eye, he took a step closer and touched my lips with his. Whimpering, I leaned into the kiss, drinking him in like the soil drinks the rain after a period of drought. I lifted my arms to wrap them around his neck, but it was too eager; he groaned in pain, not pleasure. I released him, flushing from shame, not arousal.

We returned to the others.

*

The gesture Iorweth showed me by being by my side at that horrible moment I learned of my mother’s murderers moved me beyond words. It strengthened my longing for him. The kiss after the picnic didn’t help break the ice of uttering everything that was still unsaid between us. I needed a chance to pour my heart out before it burst.

Our friends and family shared knowing eye casts between each other, but they didn’t interfere.

Iorweth sometime gave me certain glances, as if waiting for me to make another move. He had offered me a thread to pull if I wished to untangle our mess.

I seized the opportunity one late afternoon as we trained our aim with our weapons by the glen outside the city walls. Iorweth was still stiff, but he needed only a bit more time and healing to regain his focus. The patches of black and lilac bruises underneath his tunic had faded to a yellow and brown tinge, and he hardly limped anymore.

I wanted to speak, but hesitated, like dancing upon a knife’s edge. _Say it, say it…_

“So,” I ventured, pulse quickening.

“So,” he replied, casting me a glance, frowning at the skewed placement of the arrow in the training doll.

“You like me,” I said in a matter of fact-voice as if it were the most mundane utterance.

His frown died. He laughed in a surprised exhale through his nostrils.

“I do.”

I blushed, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook.

“What about me do you like more precisely?”

He searched my gaze as if unsure of the seriousness in my question. Of course, I wasn’t serious - or had I ever been so serious before? He once confessed he cared for me against his will, and it hurt. This was a chance to do better.

He placed his bow on the ground, a slow blush reddening his ears. I enjoyed the sight.

“I like the way you sometimes snort when you laugh.”

Baffled, I shot my eyebrows in the air. I had anticipated some answers, but not that.

“I don’t -”

“You do. I like your laughter. When you are happy, you laugh with your mouth wide open in these inhales, and it just - kills me.”

He groaned the last words. My mouth fell open from the realization he found my impossibly awful laughter to be cute.

“I like the way you sleep with your arms like this.” He curled his hands into his chest.

I snorted. I did sleep like that.

“I like your behind. Especially in those breeches you wore as we travelled to the Blue Mountains. Do you know how difficult it was to traverse that path with a constant erection?”

I chuckled, hand over my mouth, and whacked him on the arm.

His smile softened, his voice turned a note deeper. “I like the sounds you made that night in the cabin, dyfirgin.”

Damn him. Flushing from the memory, I turned more tomato than human.

He crossed his arms on his chest.

“Do you like me?” His question was warm but hesitant like he wasn’t sure he could ask it. The atmosphere turned fragile.

I continued to mock indifference and shrugged. “I suppose I do.” My heart rate rushed, the mirth bubbled in me.

“What do you like about me?” He smiled as the jovial mood returned.

“I also like your behind. But you keep hiding it underneath that tunic.” I motioned towards him and placed my hands on my hips. “You should share it more with the world.”

He shook his head and grinned. My heart did a jolt at the sight.

“I like your smile.” I took a step closer. The warmth remained in his eye, but he grew silent and let his arms hang at his sides. I stepped so close our bodies touched and raised a hand to his face.

“I like the way you make me feel - like I’ve never been more alive than when I’m with you.”

A warm flame lit in the depth of his eye.

I let my fingers ghost along his scar and traced the damaged skin, puckered like the landscapes of Kaedwen, under my fingertip. My heart ached from the thought of the pain he recently endured, because of me...

Iorweth frowned and grabbed my hand. “Do you wish I didn’t look like this?”

My heart ached from the implication of his words. Did he fear I found him to be unattractive?

“No. Your scar is a part of you.”

“I wish,” he replied in a low growl, “you wouldn’t look at me with pity, but with want. I’m wary of being your patient.”

A wave of heat rushed through me. No more hesitation, no more play.

“I want you.”

I kissed him with all the sincerity of my yearning. He responded and pressed me against him with a firm hand on the small of my back. The whirlwind returned, seizing me in its vortex of fire. We got undressed and laid on top of his tunic. I didn’t ask him once if he was hurting or uncomfortable, trusting he would tell me if it was the case. I didn’t climb on top of him to reach unity; we had achieved it through weeks of being close.

I did it to feel the aching tease of his lips on my breasts, to push him on his back and admire his beauty as I rode him, failing to stifle a cry as I came from the luscious pressure he added with his thumb where our bodies met. I did it to admire the graceful stretch of his muscles as he turned us to take as I had taken, gasping as he entered me to chase his own release. I did it to witness the pleasure written on his face as his thrusts became merciless, to feel the heat of his breath against my skin, and to hear him groan in bliss, not pain. I wanted to be strong after weeks of being weak, to be rough after weeks of being vulnerable. I craved the hurt that felt just right, the way it did when he grabbed my wrists above my head and caught my lips in a kiss so bruising I tasted blood.

Ciaran once asked me if I had done it while being angry. Did he know the sweet intensity that came from doing it while being at peace?

*

After that episode, we shared many kisses. They were not only kisses of lust but also soft presses of the lips in confirmation. _You are, you will continue to be, and so will I_. Both of us were surprised by the tenderness we possessed and blamed it on the lust for life and escape from death.

Each morning, I awoke beside him, relishing in the luxury of our intimacy. I had never experienced anything like it. Being close was shockingly pleasant, a superior companion to other beautiful things such as enjoying a rest in the Kaedweni forest after a successful day of hunting, the scent of newly washed linen left to dry in the sun, or breaching the surface of the Lixela in summer, when the waters were soft like drifting through silk.

We spent most days together, spending time in the forest or observing the harpies at the cliffs, collecting their feathers for making bolts. I shuddered when Iorweth told me about a particular species of harpy that steal your dreams. We sometimes met a troll couple who lived nearby. The male troll sent me such appreciative glances that Iorweth silently started making detours to avoid him, which made me chuckle. When we once shot a deer, Iorweth asked me to cook it in wine like that first day we met. At nights, we often returned to the Cauldron with our friends and family before retiring together to his quarters.

At times, Ciaran seized Iorweth in low, urgent conversations that always left Iorweth silent and tensed. I did my best to ignore those moments and made it a sport to find him things he liked; herbs for his pipe, white flatbread and smoked trout to eat, books in Elder Speech to read. Certain nights, I took up my slipshod knitting while he perused a book in front of the hearth, pipe lit. He massaged my feet in his lap, lifting occasional glances that I returned with a smile.

I had never been good with words - often harsh, clumsily uttering what I felt or thought. With him, I never felt obliged to express myself through speaking. I could communicate through touch, smiles, knowing eye casts. It gave me a freeing sense of acceptance. We were alike in that sense.

The days passed in a calm bliss I didn’t know how to name. For the first time, I preferred the company of another rather than seeking precious time alone. I had never been so close to accepting the notion of being part of a “we” before, apart from with my sister.

The fragility of that notion - us - became clear when I one day stepped into his quarters, finding him with the key in his hand, deep in thought. My heart sunk to the floor.

The sight of the key, blood red and glistening from the light of the candles, pulled me from the dream-like state I have lived in the past weeks. I had allowed myself to forget that I was a human and he was an elf, with everything that entailed. The key represented the gulf between our races that we couldn’t escape no matter how much we wanted to.

I hated it.

“When will you go?” I asked hard, “to Shaerrawedd?”

His eye radiated pain.

“Morgan…”

“I’m coming too.”

“You don’t -”

“You heard me.”

He stared at me, a weary expression on his face, nostrils flaring.

“I care for you. More than I thought possible. But I’ve been searching for Aelirenn’s key my whole life. You can’t ask me to choose between you and -”

“Don’t.” I bit off his words. My eyesight quivered from hot tears. “I’ve never asked you to choose between anything. I will to go with you to Sherrawedd because it’s my right. If what you find is a weapon, I want you to look me in the eye as you pick it up. Let me be the first human you strike at.”

It was cruel. I intended it to be.

We remained a few heartbeats, eyes interlocked until I couldn’t take it anymore and turned on my heel to leave.

I didn’t join the others at the Cauldron that night. I took my crossbow, ventured out with a torch to guide my way and shot at the training doll by the glen. Above me, the bats left their cave to hunt the insects that hatched in the shallow waters of the nearby millpond. When the last sounds of their murmuration ebbed, everything stilled. Eerily, the stars twinkled cold and the moon hung in the sky like a silver coin.

I hit the doll for the third time when Iorweth approached, signalling his presence through the soft crunch of leather boots on leaves. I turned to meet his gaze. A breeze played with the strands of my hair; he gently pushed them behind my ear.

We didn’t say anything. I sank into his embrace. We kissed as we lived in a world where the union between our races wasn’t made impossible because of how we had built it on hate and violence. He took my hand and led me to his quarters where he slowly undressed me. We made love like the prospect of _us_ wasn’t absurd, with a tenderness that came from knowing the night represented an exception to that which would come.

In the morning, we ate our breakfast in silence, packed provisions, took our bows, the key, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Aép dearme am vis, teddan a’deallwaeth” - Your dreams will show, times of understanding.
> 
> The strongbox shaped like a small city is inspired by the book All The Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (2015).
> 
> I struggle to write fluff. God, do I struggle. If this chapter made you smile, I would love to know :)


	15. Chapter 15

Iorweth and I ventured towards the Lixela, marching in silence. My anger and hurt died in the tenderness of the night before and I followed him driven by a feeling that I should, not a childish sense of wanting him to hurt as I did. We hunted when we found small game, found shelter when it rained and spent the nights close on top of the furs, holding each other.

Crossing the river by night, we used the common road bridge, cloaked by the darkness. Our steps were accompanied by the chirrup of night-living insects and the occasional gurgles of nearby drowners. The closer we got to Shaerrawedd, the heavier the silence between us grew.

We arrived in the outskirts of the ruins at dawn.

Despite growing up in relative proximity to Shaerrawedd, neither I nor my family ever ventured to the ruins. My mother explained we had no business in a derelict elven palace, plus, the squirrels were known to kill any human who dared to enter.

Efa once went. She returned with a certain melancholy that manifested in her eyes glazing over in thought and a wrinkle creasing the space between her eyebrows. I asked her of the palace, and she told me of its former splendour; of white columns and arcades, towers that extended into the sky like alabaster needles, of arched bridges over silvery waters and cupolas delicate like spun sugar.

A ghost of its former glory, the ruins of Shaerrawedd stood on remains of great pillars, cracked by rain and wind. Trunks of birches grew inside the ruins and shaded the pattern of the floors in dots. We stepped the creeping ivy and the layers of lush moss of the stone towards stairs below. A faint drizzle told of a source of water. I craned my neck and let my gazed wander around, mouth open, inhaling the clean scent of plants that pushed their stems through the cracks in the marble. The hoarse chatter of a magpie echoed within, a jarring sound in such a delicate place.

Passing alabaster colonnades embraced by ivy, we approached the structure of a great fountain. Its waters still rippled in shallow clefts that washed the marble from dirt and moss.

Iorweth stopped, head slouching towards his chest.

I rounded his shoulder to face him and placed my hands underneath his pointed ears. His jaw tensed and a sheen of sweat glistened on his temple. He flicked his gaze to mine and took my hands, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he mumbled, breathing hard through his nose. “I’ve wanted to find Aelirenn’s tomb for so long, and now I’m afraid of what it might mean.”

I tried to catch his gaze. I was no longer afraid. What did the times of understanding mean, if we couldn't trust each other? The meaning of the key had to be something else than more wars, more death. If there was such a thing as fate, then all the happenings leading us here were part of it.

“You can,” I said, “listen to me. If we leave, you’ll hate me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. You’ll feel like I robbed you of your fate.”

I searched for his gaze and spoke softly. “Iorweth… if it’s true as the legend says, that Aelirenn’s key holds a secret that may change things for elves, then opening her tomb must be the right thing to do.”

He placed my palms against his chest. Our foreheads touched.

“Marcin was right,” he groaned, “I never searched for the key until after the war. It’s been the only thing that’s given my life a sense of meaning. All the battles fought, all the death and suffering I’ve seen… That I’ve caused… it led to nothing. The elves haven’t won so much as a fraction of the freedom we crave.”

“What Marcin said was cruel, and borne out of fright -”

“Do you realize what the expulsion of the Scoia’tael from Dhol Blathanna means? We were the last of the young elves. Enid an Gleanna won her lands but lost a future in the Valley of Flowers. We were fooled - so utterly deceived…”

He lifted his head with an inhale. “I’m tired of fighting, Morgan. I’d like to live a life in dignity, without strife or battles. I wish to see elven children play and grow up in peace.”

My heart ached. How had we managed to create a world where asking for so little had become insurmountable for so many? For what? When humans became masters of the world, did we not also become slaves under our own domination? It was a shameful rule built over piles of bones and rivers of blood.

I opened my mouth to speak again when I caught a motion in the crook of my eye. We lifted our heads in sync.

To our right, a white unicorn sauntered on the grass-covered tiles of the bailey. A misty light, the way candlelight blurs if you hold it in fog, surrounded the creature like a halo. Above us, the sky lit in a luminous northern light that billowed across the dying stars in veils of green and gold.

The unicorn stopped to nibble on the grass. It lifted its head as if something startled it and left in a fanciful trot.

Both of us followed the creature with our gazes, stupefied. We turned to mirror our amazement in each other.

“Are we dreaming?” I breathed, “is this a dream?”

Iorweth’s expression turned resolute, his jaw taut. “Ess’ted, esse creasa,” he murmured. A tender spark erupted in his eye as he held out his hand.

Without hesitation, I raised my hand to take his.

We descended the marble stairs, hand in hand, surrounded by the drips of the stream that used to feed the fountain. When we reached the base of the stairs, I let go of Iorweth’s hand and gasped. Surrounding a white boulder, a large rose bush grew from the rubble. Each rose, white like snow, nodded in the faint breeze and glistened with dew as if covered in pearls. The roses formed a frame around a carved portrait of a beautiful elven woman that reminded me of Shioned.

“Elirena.”

“Yes,” Iorweth answered, the wistful expression on his face mirroring that of the famous Aelirenn, whose portrait we observed.

“How are we going to find her tomb?” The question had been nagging me ever since we left Vergen. To protect her resting place from scavengers and human plunderers, it must be hidden, and well.

“With this.” Iorweth held out the key in his gloved hand.

At first, nothing happened. The air hovered still, the jovial tweet of a goldfinch the only sound to break the silence.

The key shivered, its colours lit from inside. Iorweth inhaled and held his breath. A loud snap caused us to turn and stare at the opposite wall of the round bailey. Closing his fist around the glowing key, Iorweth marched up to the wall.

As solid as a mountain, the granite of the wall did not show a crack, not a crevice to reveal a hidden door or opening. Frowning, Iorweth caressed the stone with his hand with a frustrated movement.

Taking a step to push at the wall, he lost his grip of the key. I caught it and pressed it against the granite not to let it fall to the ground. Fast like lightning, Iorweth made a movement to catch the key and pressed my hand against the stone.

The wall moved in a rumble. My nails scratched the granite as I tensed my fingers in surprise. Dust swirled as a hole in the wall opened before our eyes from nowhere.

Beyond it lay a long, dark corridor. Iorweth I and stared at each other, still grasping the key. All birdsong grew silent, only the faint breeze whistled through the opening.

He fetched a torch from my satchel and lit it with his fire steel.

I hesitated. This was a sacred place for elves, should I really be here? Opening my mouth to say I’d wait for him outside, I silenced when he gently pulled my hand and led me into the corridor. The gesture lit a spark of nervousness in my heart.

I jumped with a gasp when the opening closed with a dry crack behind us. The torch threw a warm light on the stone.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes,” I swallowed, “I don’t like to be trapped in small spaces, that’s all.”

He squeezed my hand. “Come, let’s find the end of this corridor.”

I breathed in controlled intakes while we continued forward. The damp, but fresh air caressed the skin on our faces, the light flickered against the smooth granite. Underneath us, we stepped on the finest marble with a pattern like flowing waves.

The corridor opened up to a large circular room. Mosaics adorned the walls. They pictured scenes of elves in fanciful garments and jewellery. Some were armoured with spears and swords, commanding an army against the cavalry of unicorns…

On the mosaic furthest to our right, a group of elves in tarnished clothes kneeled, but my eye barely registered the picturization. All my attention centred on a statue of a woman looming over a marble sarcophagus in the middle of the room. Her hand grasped a branch of fern, her curls fell down her head past her bosom.

Struck by the dissemblance of the portrait of Aelirenn, I squinted to sharpen my eyesight. This woman was plump, shorter than average elves… Iorweth neared her features with the torch. I frowned in disbelief. Her ears - they weren’t pointy.

“Impossible,” Iorweth whispered. In front of us, instead of the slender Aelirenn, stood the statue of a human.

All sound vanished in an inhale as if the room sucked the air free from oxygen. My vision turned blurry, but a strange light lit up the room as an ethereal fog weaved from spider’s web. I took a frightened step backwards and bumped my shoulder blades into Iorweth, heart pounding in my chest.

_Who are you?_

The voice flowed like a whisper, belonging to a woman. The only sounds heard beside it were our breaths, his controlled, my trembling.

_Why have you come?_

The voice came from all directions at once. Something brushed past us, fast enough to take out the flames of Iorweth’s torch. The strange, milky light persisted.

“Aelirenn?” Iorweth breathed.

The mist thickened and coagulated to the form of a woman, reminiscent of the statue behind us.

“I knew her,” the voice uttered, melodious and brittle like ice. “She came asking for glory, her heart full of conviction or her victory, fueled by her hate, by desperation. She came to me to take, and to give nothing.”

“Who are you?” Iorweth’s voice strained.

The ethereal creature regarded us with unseeing eyes for a few heartbeats.

“I have been given many names. My first was Elitha.”

Beside me, Iorweth stepped forward. “Whoever you may be, we have come for help. My people are dying. I have searched for the key to Aelirenn’s tomb to find an answer...”

“To what question, _Aen Seidhe_?”

Iorweth grew silent, breathing hard through his nostrils. The vapour swirled around the Goddess’ form.

“You come together. Perhaps it is true - the times of understanding are coming. But I have seen the hatred in the hearts of elves and humans, these different races you claim to belong to, separated, trapped in your cycle of violence.”

In stupefaction, we cast our gazes around at the fleeting creature, hardly able to comprehend her words.

The being faded, the strange light around us intensified.

I jerked my head to the side when Iorweth’s form faded. Vaporous winds blew inside the confinement of the tomb.

“Iorweth?” I took a hesitant step, searched around me in the mist, finding nothing but the echo of my own voice. I called his name again with a few, trembling movements, throat constricting from fear.

_What is it that you seek?_

The voice of the wraith - or was she a ghost? Spoke in a whisper that ran like an icy drop of water along my spine. I called Iorweth’s name again.

 _Show me your heart_ , the voice danced inside my mind, _call for him without using his name_.

I ran, breathing hard, but stopped to calm down. I was trapped in this milky mist without end, without sound or scent, alone…

My hands bumped against cold stone, I turned and held on to it for leverage against the nothing. A cold sensation crept up my arms. I closed my eyes shut and breathed in deep inhales to stop the sensation of the walls moving towards me...

A faint, quivering call penetrated the mist, a musky “hoo…” I held my breath. Again! The sound of the Kaedweni owl - it must be -

Willing my pounding heart to calm, I answered in the shrill call of the owl’s mate; a drawn-out, quivering tweet.

The hoo sounded again, closer. I let out another tweet, closer, closer until the call was only a few feet away. The shape of Iorweth appeared in front of me, the most wondrous sight in my life.

I ran into the solid embrace of his arms, a lifebuoy in this cold nothingness, and inhaled his familiar scent. He kissed my forehead. I leaned my head against his shoulder, ecstasy flowing in my veins.

“You found me.”

“I will always come for you.”

At that moment, the knowledge that I - loved Iorweth - spread like a warm liquid through my heart. I loved him like a ship lost in a treacherous sea loves the beacon of the lighthouse.

The mist around us materialized into the woman again. Smoke ran over her fingers, interlaced over her abdomen. The tips of her hair floated in the renewed wind.

I held onto Iorweth’s hand and raised a defying glare at her form.

“This man has come to you asking for help. Will you ignore him?”

“What help do you seek, _Aen Seidhe_?” her whispering voice echoed between the walls, “and what have you brought me in return?”

“I seek a solution,” Iorweth answered, “I don’t wish for more wars or more death. I know it leads only to suffering. I offer you this.” He held the key in his outstretched palm.

A shiver caused the mist to dance.

“The key. Then you must be -” Her unseeing eyes of vapour fixated me, “the child of the river.”

“How did you know?” I whispered.

“An elven woman came to me, begging for another time - another world. After Lara Dorren, she was the first to ask for unity. I gave her the key.”

“Efa.”

The being scrutinized me with a piercing glare. Her eyelids glittered, her mouth shivered on her face of mist. A chill wandered down my arms.

“I have seen your doubt, _Aevon’edd_. The time of unity cannot come without the time of understanding. Your ways must be his. His way must be yours.”

I cast a glance down to our interlaced fingers, to the woven bands wrapped around my wrist. I released Iorweth’s hand and unbound them. He observed my motions in silence and met my gaze as I held out the bands to him. Wordlessly, he removed his glove to allow me to wrap them around his wrist.

He glinted a smile at me and lifted his hand to pull the feather fastened to the leather strap around his headband. He reached out to tie it to the string that held my hair together by the nape of my neck.

We interlocked hands again.

The being smiled. “A beautiful gesture. But, to help you, I’ll need one last token of your bond. The key must be pierced.” She nodded at the weapon at my hip. “Take your bow.”

Her mist flicked to Iorweth.

“Place the key over your heart.”

His jaw pulsed, but he agreed in silence. He paced a few steps to the walls and planted his back against the stone. The key shone in his hand and sent a fiery shadow over his chest.

Hand trembling, I unfastened the crossbow from my hip. The bolt slid from my clammy fingers. Having loaded the bow, I lifted my head to meet Iorweth’s gaze. He nodded.

The bow sunk as I let my arm fall.

“No.”

“Morgan…” Iorweth pleaded.

I turned to her, that monster disguising as a goddess.

“Why compel us to these cruel games? How did you become such a demon? Don’t ask me to raise my weapon at him; I won’t.” My eyesight shivered from the resentment that flowed over me in hot waves.

The misty robes of creature billowed. A smile appeared on her lips.

“You have shown me your heart.”

Her being fluttered to Iorweth. He breathlessly handed her the trinket. It rested in her palm like a drop of blood on a cloud.

“The key does not belong to me, but to the opener of worlds.”

“The unicorn,” Iorweth breathed.

“We saw it!” I exclaimed, “Outside the ruin, before we opened your tomb!”

Another shiver, her voice like quicksilver. “He has returned... I believe you. I regret it had to come to this, but you bring me hope.”

She turned to Iorweth and placed the key in his hand. “Gather your people. By the end of the seventh Savaed, seek him here in Shaerrawedd. He will open the door to Tir Mil Laece. It will be your way out, the last of the Aen Seidhe.”

She tilted her head, a compassionate expression spreading in the blurred contours of her face.

“What will the times of understanding mean for you, I wonder, Iorweth aep Eiranwen?”

Iorweth breathed hard through his mouth. “The land of a thousand lakes?”

A violent swoosh rang in my ears, the wind swirled hard and rushed through the room. The woman disappeared. Everything around us turned milky-white. Panic from losing sight of him gripped my heart, but he held on to my hand as we were lifted and sent flying through the air.

With a thud, we landed outside the fountain, facing the rosebush and the portrait of Aelirenn. We scrambled from our behinds and squinted at the fading storm that had lifted us from a plane of existence we didn’t know how we had entered. Iorweth’s grip of my arm hardened. He pulled me against him. Without hesitation, I accepted his embrace.

We stayed, hearts full of what we had seen. The roses of Shaerrawedd nodded in the fair wind, offering strange solace in our bewilderment.

Our world filled with familiar sensations anew - the tweet of the goldfinch, the chatter of the magpie, the rustle of the wind through birch leaves. The sun warmed the marble of the stone.

Inside my chest, the fibres of my heart stretched and tensed like the strings of a lute, each thought playing an aching note.

An escape.

“The key,” I whispered, “it _does_ open a door. Delys was right.”

Iorweth grabbed me by the arms. “Morgan. “The solution for elves, what I’ve been fighting for so long. It’s within my grasp.”

The strangest mix of pride and despair bloomed in my chest. How could a heart harbour such feelings at once? I suppressed my thoughts. My heart didn’t matter; he mattered.

I did my best to smile. “‘Gather your people by the end of the seventh Savaed’. It’s two months away. There is no time to lose!”

“You’ll help me?” Iorweth’s expression of wonder melted my heart. His expression changed into pensive wistfulness. He opened his mouth to say something, but the emotion he conveyed stirred a sense of panic in me. I got up on my feet, urging him to join me.

“Let’s return to Vergen. We must tell the others about this!”

I raced to underscore my words and to not to expose my tears. In the privacy of Bertie’s apartment in Vergen, I could cry as much as I wanted but this was not the moment. This is what fate led us to that day in Ellander; this mission of opening the door.

The way out.

“Wait.” Iorweth took a rose from the bush and fastened it to his front. With a look of determination, he joined me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I loved him like a ship lost in a treacherous sea loves the beacon of the lighthouse” might be the most cheesy line I’ve ever written and I don’t regret a single word. 
> 
> “The land of a thousand lakes” is actually a common, poetic epithet for Finland. Instead of bringing the hobbits to Isengard, I’m taking the elves to Suomi *snort*. In all seriousness though, the door is inspired by a segment in the Lady of the Lake that stated the elves found a way out and left the Witcher world through a “door”.
> 
> A bit more angst before the happy ending! The next update will be the last since the last chapter is an epilogue. I don’t wish to hold on to that for a week for no reason and will post both chapter 16 and 17 in one go. Wait, what is this stinging behind my eyelids..?


	16. Chapter 16

We traversed the landscape back to Vergen in a rush. During the few pauses we made, we discussed a plan for the exodus of the Aen Seidhe, how to spread the word, and to avoid human interference.

For every step we took from Shaerrawedd, a weight grew in my heart. The sensation coupled with aching tenderness at the light in Iorweth’s eye whenever he spoke of his mission. Sometimes, he went silent, resting his gaze on me. I responded with more discussions on the door, the fate of elves, anything but the sentiment he conveyed. A mild rain cooled my cheeks and fell in a gentle pitter-patter in tune with my mood.

When we arrived in Vergen, our friends and family met us with questions - where had we gone? Why did we leave without a word? Iorweth urged them to gather in his quarters within an hour to recount everything we had seen and heard at Shaerrawedd. 

The weight in my heart threatened to floor me. I left to take the opportunity for a bit of rest. Iorweth accompanied me, leaving the others in a clumsy silence. When we reached the door to Bertie’s quarters, he grabbed my hand with an urging expression.

“Morgan, we need to speak about what this means - for us.”

Panic rose in my guts. I wasn’t strong enough to speak of his departure - not yet. I arranged my features in an attempt to smile.

“I just need a bit of rest.” I raised my hand to my forehead. A headache pulsated in the veins of my temples.

He took a step back, hesitantly. I opened the door to the apartment. Well inside, I fell onto the bed and drowned in sleep so profound I lost track of time and space. Bertie gently woke me an hour later for the meeting.

*

“This is unbelievable.” Ciaran’s voice held no stupefaction, but rage and resentment. He was the first to speak after Iorweth had recounted our adventure in the tomb underneath the ruins of Shaerrawedd.

“You took a dh’oine into a sacred place that should only be entered by elves. You're telling us woman offered you a ‘way out’?"

Ciaran narrowed his eyes at his former commander. 

“I took Morgan to Shaerrawedd because the key belonged to her. She -”

“She has your dick so tightly wrapped around her little finger, you’ve forgotten who you are.”

My stomach sunk to the floor. _My brethren will ridicule me_. Iorweth clenched his jaw and Yanis gave Ciaran a glare that could eat through stone.

“Ciaran, don’t -” Shioned said but he interrupted her with a sweep of his hand.

“The same goes for you, Shioned. I was promised glory. This is all nekker shit. Aelirenn’s key was going to provide us with a way to take this world back from dh’oine. Now, I’m told we are offered ‘a way out’?”

Ciaran grasped the edge of the table so hard his knuckles whitened. “Fuck your way out. It’s a defeat, an escape with our tails between our legs. I’m not going.”

“I never promised you another war, Ciaran,” Iorweth grumbled. “The legend was told in many different forms.”

Ciaran opened his mouth to retort, but Ele’yas interrupted him.

“I’m going.”

All turned their eyes to him. A calm light emanated from his eyes.

“I don’t think of this as defeat. I’ve dreamed of the chance for another life, a fresh start, since I was a child. There is no future for elves in this world, we all know it. Not without giving up so much of what we are. I’m going.”

“I’m staying.” Shioned raised her chin, her eyes fastened on her brethren. “I don’t agree that there is no future for elves in this world. Perhaps there is no way to live as we did centuries ago, but I am tired of living for the past. Bertie is right; this world changed, and we did not. I’m willing to understand what it means to be an elf in a different way than how our forefathers lived.”

She grabbed Delys’ hand. My sister beamed at her with eyes shivering from tears.

“I know who I am, Ciaran. I’m proud to be an elf. Don’t tell me I’m any less because of who I choose to love or how I choose to live.” She smiled at Delys. “My way is hers, and her way is mine.”

Ciaran stared at the floor, red in the face, his hands curled into fists.

“Everyone must make the choice for themselves,” Iorweth said, facing us all. “What we need to do now is to make sure the word is spread to every elf on the continent. We don’t have a second to lose. Morgan and I have discussed how to best -”

“She cannot be part of this,” Ciaran hissed, “this is a task for us.”

“We have already agreed she can’t be part of conveying the message. It may jeopardize the trust of the idea of a door opening into another world.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’ll help in any other way possible.” Iorweth gave me a near indiscernible, grateful glint with his eye. 

“So will I,” Bertie said. All other non-elves concurred.

“What about the elves of Dhol Blathanna?” Shioned shot a pained eye cast to Iorweth.

“They have their lands. I say we let them rot in their Valley of Flowers like they let us rot in the ravine of the Hydra.”

All fell silent from Iorweth’s words. Shioned nodded, jaw clenching. Ele’yas swallowed with a spark of pain in his eyes. 

So began our mutual planning.

We spent the next months in a furious activity. Felicia helped us by preparing a magical ink that appeared only for those who could read Elder Speech. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best method we could think of. Me, Yanis, Bertie and Delys produced thousands of parchments that were to be nailed on noticeboards, walls and trees of every dwelling where elves lived.

The letters stated,

Aen Seidhe,  
Va’esse deireádh aep eigean.  
Cáemm aep Shaerrawedd, holl,  
Meáth ess’va, eige Savaed,  
Darganfod Tir Mil Laece  
Ess’ted, esse creasa.

In common speech, it stated,

People of the hills,  
Something is ending.  
come to Shaerrawedd, all  
meet you there, at the end of Savaed  
discover the land of thousand lakes  
it is time, it will be the place

The former Scoia’tael commando travelled the lands for weeks, north, south, east and west. They delegated the parchments to elves who spread the word like wildfire, pinned the text onto every notice board in the Northern Kingdoms.

After a month, Iorweth concluded their work wasn't enough. I volunteered to help.

Shrouded by cloaks, me and Yanis ventured to villages and farmsteads in Kaedwen to spread the letter.

On such an occasion, Yanis gave me a look of compassion and asked me how I was holding up. Unable to meet his eyes, I blurted a rapid “I’m fine”.

“This must be hard for you. You have the right to be sad, you know.”

“I don’t have the time to weep like a child. We have an important mission.”

“Your feelings are important too, otter. If you wish to speak about it…”

I shook my head and urged Madam towards the next village. Speak about what? My hurt? What would that change? I refused to wallow in self-pity. My father spoke out of kindness but he wasn’t helping.

*

In the weeks between our discovery of Elitha’s tomb and the date for the opening of the door, Iorweth and I spent little time together. The preparations took all our attention. Whenever we met, I made sure we were in the company of any of our family members or friends.

On the rare occasions we both spent the nights in Vergen, I avoided him to not risk ending up sharing his bed. The mere thought of being close made me wish to burst into tears. I couldn’t bother him with - me, my hurt - during these critical days when he worked so hard for the fate of his people. What would it change if I bared my need for him, besides giving him a guilty conscience?

The aching weight in my heart didn’t matter in relation to everything he achieved during these weeks before the end of the seventh Savaed. It was so big. 

It was bigger than us.

One night, two weeks before the seventh Savaed, he caught me alone climbing the stone stairs to the elven area. Drunken chants from a merry company outside The Cauldron drowned the sounds of the wind rustling through the dust. Heart in my throat, I met his gaze. The lit torch fastened on the walls behind us sent shadows dancing on his red bandana.

“You are working so hard to help us. Why?”

I didn’t understand the question. He must know why? 

“You helped me. I’m doing the same -”

“I didn’t help you. The sawmill was destroyed.”

“You couldn’t know it would happen. Just as I can’t know if any of my efforts will help the elves find their way to Shaerrawedd.”

“Do you believe you are indebted to me?”

Why, why these cruel questions? I stifled an impulse to chew on my hair.

“I know how much this means for you. It’s what you’ve wanted for so long. It’s your fate.”

He let go of my wrist. The ghost of his touch burned my skin. 

“It is.” 

He held my gaze for a moment longer, anger radiating from his eye. 

“I haven’t forgotten your greatest fear. You have left me before I could leave you.”

A chill wandered down my arms. At that moment, whatever had been between us was no more, and the death blow had been struck by me. 

A fragment of pride still left in me wanted to protest, but I was lost for words. I turned to climb the rest of the stairs, hoping the evening darkness cloaked the way my hands shook and my tears overflowed. It was good that he resented me; it meant he could leave without lingering hurt. 

Even after that moment, Iorweth sometimes gave me silent eye casts that cut into my chest. I didn’t wish to interpret the sentiment he conveyed.

Beside my bed, his feather lay alongside the white rose of Shaerrawedd, blooming in a porcelain vase.

*

On the morning of the day before the prophesied opening of the door, I stood by the table in Delys’ quarters, reading a report on elves arriving in the Pontar Valley. My sister caught me by the arm and forced me to sit and face her.

“Aren’t you going to ask Iorweth to stay? Do you want him to go through the door?”

Her question clawed my insides, but I tried my best to ignore the ache.

“I can’t ask him to choose between me and his people. Whatever is beyond that door - it’s his fate. I can’t be a burden to him now.”

“Don’t you love him?”

“Yes… yes, I do.”

Delys knitted her eyebrows in worry. “Then why are you acting as if you don’t mind him leaving! I don’t understand. How is he supposed to know you love him when you give the semblance of not caring?” 

“Not caring? How can you say that?” Sorrow welled in my chest. “What is it to love someone? Isn’t it to be happy for another and to support them? I’m helping him achieve his fate _because_ I care!”

My sisters gave me an expression full of compassion and grabbed my hands.

“I believe you don’t dare to consider that he could choose to stay with you. You don’t think you’re worthy, so you’ve given up before you’ve even tried. You know that you are worthy of love, right? You are! Please, let him know you wish for him to stay. Then at least you could tell yourself you were honest. Don’t close your heart.”

My throat wrung like a wet handkerchief, I rose to leave. My sister reached for me.

“Morgan…”

“I need to be alone.” I failed to keep my voice steady.

The moment I closed the door behind me in my and Bertie’s place, I burst into tears. Of course, Delys was right, like she always was, damn her. All I had to offer Iorweth was myself - what did that amount to in comparison to the promise of a life in peace and dignity with his people? I was less than nothing in comparison. We had shared some wonderful moments together, but what was the price? The loss of everything he valued, his identity? To protect myself from inevitable defeat, I had given up before I tried to consider that “us” could be an alternative for him.

For a few painful moments, I let my tears of self-doubt run until another voice inside me stepped forward.

I didn’t know the right thing to do, but to sit in my quarters on his last night on earth and bawl like a child wasn’t it. How did I want us to part? In defeat, or with an open heart? We had a little precious time left together. I needed to make the most of it. 

I rushed back to Delys’ quarters. Bertie had joined her with Percival by his side.

“I need your help,” I breathed.

*

Iorweth emerged from the woods onto the cliff that formed a plateau over the Pontar Valley, offering a spectacular view. Earlier that morning, I approached him in the tavern, asking him to meet me before sunset. His expression caused a jolt in my stomach; as if I presented him with something he’d been craving for but hadn't dared to request.

I stood up and smoothed a wrinkle on the dress Bertie chose for me, the first I had worn in years. A leather strap at my waist bound the sleek linen cloth, embroidered with white flowers on the hems and arms. I had bathed and Delys had pinned my hair into a bun above my neck.

“You look nice.”

I blushed. My insides fluttered like a jar trapped with butterflies.

On a blanket, I had placed a tray with some of his favourite food. I had buttered flat white bread and bought smoked trout, fresh parsley, and dried fruits and nuts. Percival had found a few pieces of baklava dripping with honey. Yanis helped me arrange everything, plus bringing us two flasks of wheat ale. 

“I’m glad you came.”

He observed me with a soft light in his eye. The warm rays of the sunset glittered in the Pontar. The warm rays deepened the colours of the cliffs, the moss and the lively hue of the birch leaves around us.

I fidgeted from his gaze and pulled a strand of my hair behind my ear. Smiling at my pounding heart, at how profound and unreal the situation was, I motioned him to sit.

We shared the meal, chatting occasionally, at times letting a warm silence envelop us. I drank in his movements, his handsome features, willing my mind to imprint this memory forever. Iorweth observed the landscape below with the look of a man that sees something for the last time. 

“This world is beautiful.” He gingerly brushed the bare part of my back with his fingertips. “I’ll never forget it.”

“What do you think Tir Mil Laece is like?” I asked, thrills wandering down my skin.

A tinge of sadness clouded his eye. He lowered his gaze to the ground.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll miss you,” I blurted.

He lifted his eye to me with an intense, inquisitive gaze.

“I wanted to tell you - before you leave - I want you to know that...”

I lost courage. My throat constricted.

“Know what? Say it, Morgan.”

I inhaled. “That I’m grateful I met you. These last months have been chaotic, and confusing, and… beautiful. Although I wish things were different, I’ll never regret this journey. I hope you’ll find everything you need in the other world. That you’ll find peace. I do.”

A pregnant pause stretched between us, a silence full of all the words that had been said. To my surprise, a warm sensation of relief filled me, like downing a gulp of warm tea on a cold day. Although I didn’t dare to tell him I loved him, afraid he’d interpret it as a way to manipulate him into staying, I had said something like it. My words wouldn’t change anything, except for letting go of the weight of silence in my heart. The pain lingered, but it ached bittersweet as opposed to bitter-cold.

“Come here.”

Iorweth held out his arm. I took his hand climbed between his legs. Leaning against his front, I accepted his arms around me and the press of his lips against the nape of my neck.

We sat like that until the sun disappeared behind the treeline, indulging in the warmth of the other, the softness of a last embrace.

*

From a hill overlooking the ruins of Shaerrawedd, I observed the bodies of thousands of elves gathering by the large glen.

The hour had struck. We calculated we had reached more than half of the known population of elves living in the Northern Kingdoms. All moved to this spot in masses from cities, villages and forests. Settlements were left empty of a large part of their non-human population; craftsmen, workers, entertainers. All vanished.

Together with a few elven mages, Felicia took part in conjuring a protective barrier to hover over the ruins. The magic shell made all life within it invisible. It would last until the sun had set over the landscape, and the elves had gone to the Land of a thousand lakes. The night before, the former Scoia’tael met with other units to hunt and kill any humans who tried to stop elves from reaching the former elven palace. I would have gone with them had they asked me to.

By the fountain in the heart of the ruin, Iorweth stood with the key in his hand. Ele’yas rested beside him.

My family gathered around me. From our position, I discerned his silhouette, the headband, and the characteristic bow on his back.

I drank his form in, loving him more than ever at that moment I was losing him.

The slow murmur of an entire people silenced. A shining white creature entered the ruins from the east, accompanied by a woman. Her dress appeared as woven by the mist, blurred but with a solid, shining core that formed her heart. White flowers draped her form, ivy crept up her limbs. A stag and a boar followed her steps.

“Our Holy Mother,” Delys whispered, her eyes large.

“The Eternal One,” Shioned breathed, equally stupefied. I stared at her, hardly grasping their words.

“Look!” Yanis hissed.

The woman we met in the tomb, who claimed her name had been Elitha, reached the circular bailey of the fountain. The hem of her dress floated like fog across the marble floor. Hand outstretched, she claimed the key from Iorweth and offered it to the creature beside her. The unicorn sunk its head and let her thread the trinket, shining with crimson light, over its head in an invisible lace. The moment the key rested on the unicorn’s chest, the woman dissolved, a sigh lingering from her vanished being. The animals that had accompanied her fled. 

I gasped and placed a hand over my heart.

The unicorn reared on its hind legs; Iorweth and Ele’yas took a step back. A bright light emanated from the key. With its sharp horn, the unicorn ripped an opening in the air, as if the atmosphere consisted of light fabric, a torn veil.

Behind the tear, a shimmering light flowed, warmth from a sun no one in this world had experienced. The unicorn sauntered into the opening with a snort from its nostrils.

Ele’yas embraced Iorweth, took a last look at the world he was born into, and entered the tear after the unicorn. Other elves followed him in a slow stream.

Yanis pushed me forwards. Iorweth came to ensure the exodus went according to plan, to be one of the last elves to leave. We met at the base of the hill when Ciaran approached us.

“I haven’t changed my mind.” He held his arms crossed on his chest. “I know there are other elves who refuse to flee. I’ll find them. Whenever an elf is wronged by a human, I’ll be there. Because we all know this isn’t the end of the strife of non-humans in this world.”

Iorweth nodded. He removed his bow and quiver and handed them to Ciaran. He accepted the gift and placed his hand over his brother's heart.

“Va faill, fraere.”

Iorweth bade him goodbye with the same words. Ciaran nodded at me and climbed the hill to take farewell of Shioned. With a crooked smile and a raised hand to the rest of our family, he left.

The sight of thousands of elves moving towards the tear in the sky caused a bucket of sorrow to fall within me. History books of humans would consider the exodus a symbol of the elves pride and refusal to adapt. To me, it symbolised our monumental failure in co-creating a world where escape wouldn’t have to be the only answer. My vision blurred from hot, shameful tears.

I steeled myself for Iorweth’s departure. I’d sooner prepare to have my arm ripped off. He still stood beside me, tensed and breathing through his nostrils. No matter how much he wanted another life, it must difficult for him to leave - like taking a somersault into unknown waters. I’d be scared too.

He took a few steps forward. The rising sun framed his silhouette in an orange hue. Next, he would turn and utter the words I dreaded; Va faill, Morgan.

He didn’t. Perhaps all we needed to say was already said. Perhaps the word goodbye was superfluous. I swallowed hard as the ground underneath my feet sunk.

I glanced up at the top of the hill from where my family observed the exodus but redirected my gaze to Iorweth’s back. He took another few steps.

My heart stretched and split in two from the increasing distance between us.

_Don’t go_ , I whispered in my mind. _Don’t go, don’t go_.

Was this it? Had I said everything that needed to be said? The thought of my life before me without him, daunting and empty, wrought a raspy sob from my throat. I placed my hand over my mouth.

Iorweth froze.

In a few determined steps, he returned. I stared at him, mouth open with an intense feeling of unrealism. 

Iorweth grabbed a hold of my arms. 

“Morgan, tell me to stay. If you want to - say it. Because I will if only I knew you wanted me to.”

“But - these are your people," I gasped. "That door is your fate!”

He cupped my face with his hands to gently force me to meet his gaze.

“I can’t go without knowing you meant what you said last night. Did you? Do you wish I wouldn’t leave? You’ve been so distant since we came back from the tomb…”

Beads of sweat gathered at my temples. The crowd that entered the tear thinned by every minute.

“Iorweth -”

“Morgan, listen to me. I dedicated my life to finding the key and helping my people. And I have. I’d like to choose my own fate for the rest of my life. I choose you, and this world. But only if you’ll have me.” 

He lifted his gaze to the humans, elf, gnome and dwarf on the hill.

“I’ve never had a family beside the Scoia’tael... You, and those people up there -” he smiled. “- feel like one.”

I shook with sobs, words trapped in my throat. Was this another dream?

“There’s still time. If I hurry, I could go through the door. But I need to know - do you want me to stay? Will you let me be your fate?”

“I’ll die long before you!” I exhaled.

“Not that long - but even if it were so, I still would have made the right choice. Ever since we opened Elitha’s tomb, I’ve been in torment. I want you, but I have so little to offer.”

He pushed his sleeve up his arm to reveal the colourful bands still wrapped around his wrist.

“I’m one of the most hated men in the Northern Kingdoms. I can’t give you children. Will you still have me?”

A powerful rush of relief, mixed with shame, washed over me. Convinced I wasn’t enough, I had detached in an attempt to accept the loss of yet another loved one. All this time when I doubted I had anything to offer him but a way to lose himself, he doubted he could offer me enough to choose him.

I’d been a fool - so stubborn, and arrogant…

Happiness coursed through my veins like wildfire. I opened my parkas to reveal the feather hanging from a string around my neck.

“I will,” I exhaled in a tearful laugh, “you’re everything I want. I’m so sorry - I’ve been such an idiot! I love you, Iorweth - you _bloede Aen Seidhe.._.”

He smiled. When we kissed, the elated squeal of my sister reached us from the hill. Soon, our family joined us; Delys, Shioned, Yanis, Bertie and Percival, embracing us and exclaiming words of joy.

With a deep, sucking sonance, like an enormous cork pulled from the skies, the tear into the sky shivered. The last of the elves entered. With a rippling echo, the wound in the air closed, leaving a shimmer as the only evidence the door had ever opened.

We faced the closing, our breaths caught in our lungs, squinting against the falling rays of the sun. As if on cue, a pigeon purred its call from a tree, tentatively as if testing the world around it, before it escaped with a flutter.

Iorweth wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a determined expression to his face.

“What do we do now?” Percival asked, stupefied, holding on to Bertie’s hand. The gnome smiled tenderly at him. Yanis put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.

Delys tightened her arm around Shione’s waist and gazed into where the tear in the sky had closed.

“We live.”

The barrier over our heads died with a powerful shing and a lingering, metallic hum.

 

**1271, Flotsam outskirts**

Heavy drops of rain fell from the sky. Autumn ruled in its most colourful time of year, from the gold of the birches and the crimson of the rowan tree. Coneflowers and bundles of orpines still bloomed by the stone of the stairs we stepped. Iorweth held my parkas above our heads to protect us from the rain.

We entered an arched gateway and arrived in a garden, lush with roses red like the key. Herbs sprouted like a green mat over the remains of the elven shrine. At the centre of the garden, overlooking the forest beneath us, paraded a statue. It depicted a man and a woman, laying on their side, embracing. Bindweed and briar entwined at the base of their bodies.

We stopped before it.

“This is the garden of Eldan and Cymoril. The legend says that this forest was once enchanted and that the couple lived within. Their story represents endless devotion, passion, commitment… and sacrifice.”

He lowered his gaze to the lush crimson roses that grew on a bush beside the couple.

“These are roses of remembrance.”

Iorweth broke a flower from the bush. “I’ll keep this… lest I forget.”

I reached out to caress a dew-covered petal. “I never dared to go to the gardens as a child. The forest was littered with monsters… and squirrels.”

“Perhaps in the future, it will be a place for contemplation and relaxation… for all. But today, I’d like to take advantage of the fact that the garden is still empty of visitors.”

“Except us.”

“Except us.”

He smiled and grabbed my hand.

“These ruins were once called Cáelmewedd. They held large baths; some of them remain. Come.”

Intrigued, I followed him. He winded his way through the greenery, finding an opening I never would have discovered that led to a set of stairs. The steps opened to a large room softly lit by the daylight outside falling through a net of stems and the green of herbs. Inside, terracotta and glazed tiles of mosaics pictured intricate patterns of green and blue, surrounding a basin of water. Small clouds of fireflies hovered in the air like tiny stars.

The faint rattle of raindrops falling above us made me feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate world opened only for us. I inhaled the scent of clean waters and polished stone, imagining the former state of the baths.

Iorweth’s eyes radiated a calm light. I blushed with affection. He was beautiful in the flickering light of the waters that dotted the mosaics of the walls, a light that emanated from the pool as if lit by scattered, luminous crystals.

He turned his gaze to me.

“Take off your clothes.”

My heart did a little jolt at his demand. Face warming, I lifted my hands and untied the lace at the top of my shirt. He helped me pull the garment over my head. I undid the fastening of his armour, letting the pieces of leather and chainmail fall to the ground in low rustles.

Stripped to my underwear, I reached to embrace him. Iorweth scooped me in his arms. With a lopsided smile, he took a few steps -

\- and threw me into the pool. I let out a surprised yelp before I hit the waters with a splash.

Spluttering, I breached the surface and wiped my hair back with a curse of mock anger. _Dolt_.

Iorweth chuckled and jumped on one leg by the edge of the pool to get his stubborn boot off. I reached out to pull him into the waters. We emerged together, seeking each other’s embrace.

After a few moments, I broke our kiss and raised my hands from his shoulders to untie the bands of his headscarf at the back of his neck. The smile in his eye died but he didn’t stop me. When the knot came loose, I peeled the scarf from his face and over his head, revealing his scar and dead eye, the dark eyelids stitched together.

This world has scarred us so badly, I thought, still we continue to find beauty in it.

I threw the bandana onto the floor. His eye burned. I softly caressed the scar of his face, placed my hands on his shoulders... and pushed to swim away from him with a smile. He reached for me with an elven curse.

I let out a repressed snicker, flung myself to the side to avoid his hands, and swam to the other side of the pool.

“Bloede dyfirg,” he growled, but the laughter simmered behind his mocked anger.

The water splashed from our chase, the light flickered chaotically against the walls. I squealed as he caught me by the side of the pool where the waters were shallower and kissed my neck. All the laughter in me shrivelled to a gasp when he palmed my breasts and pressed his growing erection against my behind. It took all my willpower not to turn and wrap my legs around his hips, to grind him until his self-control snapped, but I checked the impulse.

I wanted to give as he always gave.

I turned to reach his mouth with mine. Breaking the kiss, I grazed his jawline to his ear while letting my hand sink to his erection under the waters. My breath whisked against the shell of his pointed ear. He moaned. The sound encouraged me to sink lower and nibble the skin of his neck. To my satisfaction, his grip on my waist tightened.

It was my turn to make demands.

“Sit.”

“Morgan…”

I shook my head and gently pushed him against the edge of the pool. Hesitantly, he hoisted himself onto the ledge in perfect alignment for what I wanted to do. I caressed his thighs and darted an eye cast to his face. He bit his lower lip, nodding with a near indiscernible movement to his head. Encouraged, I wrapped my fingers around his warm length and gave the head a tentative kiss, the waters lapping around my waist.

He groaned.

A sigh escaped me at his taste, his skin warm and soft like velvet. I placed my lips around the tip to let my tongue slide along the ridge the head, smiling at how he hissed in the air between his teeth.

He let his fingers wander down my shoulder and pulled at the string that held my braid together. The wet tresses flowed over my shoulders.

I didn’t stop my mission but took him in deeper, the base of him in my hand. Continuing to swallow him down, I relished in his moans, the flashes of want that ran through me in response. The gentlest form of happiness filled me, from pride in giving him pleasure. 

None of us took notice of the whispers around us, the soft waves of laughter; unmistakable noises of love-making - moans, sighs, and gasps... In my bliss, his sounds mixed with others like in a dream.

I bobbed my head over his cock, careful not to let the contact of his tip with the back of my mouth cause me to choke when his hand in my hair stiffened. He let out a strangled groan. 

I released him and raised my gaze to his face. His hand left my head and clenched around his erection with a strained expression. He opened his eye and gave me a look of pure want. I protested when he slid back into the waters but the words died in my throat when he directed my hands to the edge of the pool and tore my smallclothes down my hips. The firmness of his touch told of his impatience.

Closing my eyes, I arched my back, wanting so bad what was going to happen, aching for it. I welcomed the delicious stretch of his cock as he entered me in one push. All thoughts vanished as he managed to find that spot inside me that lit up my body like a firecracker, _Goddess, more, please_... The waves rolled from our movements. I moaned in response when he leaned in to whisper in my ear how good I felt, how much he wanted me. 

He quickened the pace, breathing my name mixed with sweet curses, reaching with his fingers to my ache. It didn’t take long before my every nerve end lit up by an orgasm that rushed through my limbs like a molten landslide and caused me to see stars. I grasped the edge of the pool, trembling with pleasure.

Iorweth continued with a few more thrusts until he came with a strangled cry.

We stayed for a few, sweet moments in the water, embracing and exchanging whispers of affection. I couldn’t think of a more beautiful way to honour the symbolism of the place. It was the perfect way to start a new life, in an old world.

Before we returned to Vergen, I asked for his permission to take another rose from the garden. I placed the rose in the Pontar from the shore where the old village of Lobinden once was. A red petal escaped from its confinement in the waters and swirled in a current towards Upper Aedirn. 

Iorweth held my hand the whole time.

Out of our sight, a small, pink tentacle rose from the depth of the river to touch the rose in curiosity before it vanished under the surface again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was Elitha the famous Dana Meadbh (or Lyfia, or Bloemenmagde, or Danamebi)/Melitele? In my headcanon, she was once a slave of the Aen Elle who fled to the Witcher world with the help of the unicorns. The person Elitha was forgotten but her name lived on as a deity of both humans and elves. 
> 
> The last scene is, of course, inspired by The rose of remembrance quest in W2.


	17. Epilogue

_1275, Metinna_

I stepped out of the bushes that marked the edge of the forest, sending a few of Delys’ hens cackling. Two rabbit carcasses hung across my shoulder, my crossbow fastened to my hip. The sun warmed my neck. I shaded my eyes with my hand, squinting against the cabin that had served as my home for the past three years. My home - and theirs.

My family and I settled in Nilfgaard, in the mountainous area of Metinna. It turned out mother kept a canvas of a painter named Lydia van Bredevoort in the Vivaldi bank deposit. The artwork sold for a ridiculous sum at the Borsodi auction house - apparently, the painter was famous. With the money, we bought a piece of land not far from where the Sansretour river broke off from the greater stream of Sylte.

When we first arrived, I couldn’t picture myself living on the premises. The Metinna landscape was so different from Kaedwen, consisting of vast stretches of rolling hills and miles and miles of tall grass and fields of crops. The flat, open surroundings gave me a sensation of vertigo - as if my contours bled. Luckily, my family also wished to live surrounded by trees and we ventured further towards the mountainous Geso area.

The area in which we settled resembled Southern Kaedwen, but with some significant differences. Large oaks, beeches, and chestnuts dominated the forests in contrast to birches, pines, and firs. The woods hid familiar animals such as wolf and bear, but also those I’ve never heard of, such as ozelot, genet, and ibex. The beauty of the long months of spring took my breath away, but I missed the call of the loon and rolling, snowy mountains of Kaedwen. In contrast, the sharp, angular shapes of the Metinna mountains jutted into the sky like needles. I still hadn’t gotten used to the serenades of cicadas that enveloped us each night.

Yet, none of Kaedwen’s allure could replace the freedom we’d found in Nilfgaard.

The reason for our move to the south was simple. In 1272, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis proclaimed interracial marriages to be allowed in the Empire. He also banned the previous decree that forbade non-humans to own land, resulting in a large migration of elves, dwarves and gnomes from the Northern Kingdoms to Nilfgaard. Iorweth remained suspicious towards the intentions of the Emperor for long. Only after a year of the new decree, the Northern Kingdoms were drained of so many of their finest craftsmen and traders the lands plunged into economic recession. In response, Kovir and Poviss soon implemented similar laws to prevent more of the non-human workforce leaving the cities for the south. King Foltest of Temeria was rumored to consider doing the same. Effectively, the Emperor waged a different war with the North, and he was winning.

Staying in Vergen proved to be straining as brigades searching for war criminals raided the town. The worst was called the Blue Stripes, led by a Temerian, elf-hating fanatic wearing a black headcloth. Although they were hauled out by Cecil and his men, the city didn’t feel safe for us. Witch hunters arrived one day a few months after the elven exodus. We managed to smuggle Felicia out just in time. She planned to escape to Kovir via Novigrad, but we still awaited news from her. If we didn’t hear from her soon, Iorweth, Yanis and I planned to go north to find her.

In our new lands, we renovated and enlarged three cabins previously used for hunting. Yanis added a chalet for the sheep Delys bought. Together with Iorweth, he constructed a stone press for making olive oil, pulled by Madam and his new mule, Duchess. The lands in Metinna had perfect conditions for the green Ogliarola and the black Casaliva trees. The temperature in the mountainous area we lived in made for a perfect condition for pressing the luscious oil. The press constituted the heart of a small economy that sustained the community we lived in.

In our second year, more elves that chose to stay in this world contacted us and built their homes next to ours. The second year, a family of dwarves settled in our area, opening a smith, and soon we found ourselves living in a village. Early, we constituted local laws to ensure our ability to live together as equal as possible. The village elder was elected on a four-year basis and rotated between human, dwarven and elven candidates. I and Delys sold off pieces of the land to the dwellers, to not find ourselves in a position of undue economic power.

In contrast to the official worship of the Great Sun in Empire, we continued to worship our mother Melitele. We built a shrine to her honour, remembering her sacrifice. Because the language was so influenced by Elder Speech, Iorweth and his kindred learned Nilfgaardian fast. I did my best to learn Elder Speech first as his way was now my way.

As such, we lived a good life, not without its challenges, but good - me and my family.

The subjects of my musings appeared at our house. Hands outstretched, Iorweth supported our son, who rolled in a perfect somersault with a happy squeal. Beside a loincloth, the child was as naked as the day he came to us, four years ago.

Returning from Shaerrawedd the day of the opening of the door, we learned of elves never making it to the ruins. Some were hindered by illness, many by human interference. An elven woman in the brothel of Gulet died in childbirth the day before the exodus. A man delivered her baby son to Vergen in hope of finding someone to care for him.

I had no plans of becoming a mother, but it took but one look at him for me to know his fate was intertwined with ours.

I snorted and paused to witness the man and the boy, impressed by his technique. Last summer, Delys and I started a circus school for the children in the village, and Lito was our most eager student.

 _Me elaine weddin_ , I whispered in a wave of affection.

The boy noticed me approaching and ran towards me, chanting “modron, modron!” His big smile melted my heart to honey. Although grimy with sweat, I couldn’t resist lifting his small, warm body in my arms and utter the endearing pet name we’d given him.

“Hello, little salmon. Have you behaved well while I was away?”

He nodded and hid his face in the crook of my neck. I kissed him on his pointed ear.

“Lito, tell your mother about how you ran to the creek without waiting for me this morning.”

Iorweth spoke in a concerned tone, but a tinge of warmth coloured his voice.

I frowned at our son. He loved water and would gladly spend his entire days in the stream that flowed to the west of our cabin, but he wasn’t allowed to go by himself. The thought of anything happening to him caused a sickening jolt to my stomach. Only after I had a child of my own did I understand what I put my mother through.

“Always wait for your father, Eog’haid. Promise me.”

Lito nodded, his long lashes lowered in shame before he grabbed one of the rabbits over my shoulder and cried, “Mother, you’ve caught two bunnies!”

I let him take the rabbits with an instruction to take them inside. Iorweth placed his arms around me.

“I’m filthy,” I protested when he kissed my neck. A pleasant shiver ran down my arms.

“It’s what I love about you,” he mumbled against my skin.

We traversed the distance to the house. I remained on our porch to take a mouthful of water from the pail. The sun began its traverse over the fields, illuminating the straw roof of the house further down the slope. The cottage was covered in white plaster and painted in intricate floral patterns. My sister's work; a sentimental wink to Kaedweni traditions.

Delys exited the front door of their house with her little daughter Esther and Yanis in tow. Through their window panes, I spotted the silhouette of Shioned, moving in their kitchen.

Two years after we settled in Metinna, Shioned and Delys left, returning after a few weeks to reveal they were having a child. They never spoke of the father but raised their daughter in understanding. Because Nilfgaardian laws prevented them from getting married, Iorweth and I also abstained from marriage until the bigotry against different forms of love was abolished.

I smiled and raised my voice for my niece to hear;

“Ceádmil, luned! Qu’ess va te?”

The little girl hollered a greeting, her mane of red locks shining in the sun.

“Aep woedd, Morgan!”

Unable to resist his wish to go with his cousin, whom he loved with all his heart, Lito ran past me chanting her name.

“Oi!” I called, “Put some clothes on, silly - and your shoes.”

He ran back inside and came out a few minutes later wearing a tunic and a pair of moccasins.

Delys and Yanis waved at me. “We’ll take care of him, Morgan!”

I waved back, smiling. Lito jumped into Yanis’ arms. When I no longer discerned their silhouettes in the nearby forest, I peeked at the small cottage to the left my sisters’. Bertie was out, tending his large bushes of white and red roses.

I leaned forward over the railing. About to call his name and ask if he and Percy wished to join us for dinner, I was lifted by a pair of strong arms enclosing my midriff. Iorweth carried me into the cabin and silenced my ‘hey!’ with a kiss.

I guessed our dinner plans could wait.

*

Later that night, I put Lito to bed, observing his delicate features. My mind wandered to that day when I first met his father and I smiled, thinking of all the events that led us here. Of everything lost and gained.

The Kaedweni proverb was right. Fate never knocked on my door; it tripped me and pushed me to the ground.

“What are you smiling at, modron?” Lito yawned from his bed.

“Nothing, little salmon. Do you want me to tell you a story before we put the candle out?”

“Can you sing me a song?”

“Of course.”

I caressed his dark hair and sang the lullaby of my childhood,

Mae’r caémm  
n’corrason cáelm  
arras aen amser tedd  
aép dearme am vis  
teddan a unidae  
teddan a’deallwaeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one sad part of this ending. Everyone who’s played The Witcher 3 might remember Felicia’s fate. 
> 
> Me elaine weddin - my beautiful (little) child  
> Eog’haid - salmon (variant of welsh)  
> Ceádmil, luned! Qu’ess va te? - Greetings, little girl, where are you going?  
> Aep woedd - To the forest.  
> Modron - mother
> 
> English version of the elven lullaby: 
> 
> Night has come.  
> The heart has slowed  
> waiting for another time  
> Your dreams will show  
> times of unity  
> times of understanding
> 
> Writing this fic was a self-indulgent pleasure that stemmed from my (elf thirst) interest in the conflict and relations between the races in the Witcher world. Sharing the fic has been a wonderful experience and I am grateful to everyone who has read, given kudos, commented and bookmarked this fic! My heart is very full!
> 
> I’m going to miss the rewarding interactions I’ve had with readers of this fic, please find me on [tumblr](www.tumblr.com/namesonboats) or [twitter](www.twitter.com/namesonboats) if you wish to continue any conversation about fic writing, the Witcher world, (elf thirst) prompts, or any other topic! <3


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